


My Weakness

by Caedmon



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angry Natasha, Angst, BAMF Natasha, Battle of New York, Birth, Bruce Banner is wise, Christmas sucks, Clint Needs a Hug, Clint is over it, Drinking & Talking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Erotica, F/M, Feels, Guilt, He made a different call, How it all began, Jealous Clint, Jealous Natasha, Marriage Proposal, Natasha Needs a Hug, Natasha Romanov Has Issues, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Phil Coulson Is a Good Bro, Phil Coulson is apparently not dead, Phil does Clintasha a solid, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pregnancy, Protective Clint, Protective Natasha Romanov, Protective Team, Protective Tony Stark, The Avengers Initiative, The Hospital Fire, Trust, Unplanned Pregnancy, Wedding Fluff, Wedding Night, and Clint is pissed as hell, its a girl, its getting fluffy up in here, pregnant angst, steve has a crush, surprise, test of loyalty, the arrow necklace, viva las vegas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-03
Updated: 2014-06-21
Packaged: 2018-02-03 07:06:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 75,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1735568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caedmon/pseuds/Caedmon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint Barton is a hardened assassin who does his job without question. Natasha Romanov is a spy for whom emotions are a liability. Both of them are the best in their field, world-renowned for their skill and toughness. But then they meet each other, and from that moment they both have a hidden weakness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> I don't pretend to be objective  
> I will always come down on your side  
> But every time I see or hear or smell you  
> My bias grows more hard to hide  
> And I'd be no good to no one  
> If they knew the truth  
> That you are my weakness, my weakness  
> You are my Kryptonite  
> The sun that shines a light on my soul  
> "Weakness" by Todd Rundgren
> 
>  
> 
> (additional notes at the end of the work.)

Johannesburg, August 2005

 

Clint Barton was a hard man. He had never had it easy, and it had shaped him into a human being of almost inhuman toughness. At 32, he had no idea how many people he had killed. He had lost count, and figured that it no longer mattered. Most were guilty, but there were a lot of collateral, innocent deaths, too. It had been many years since Clint cried over them. He was hard. Tough. He got the job done, killed the mark, and got the hell out. It wasn’t his job to care. It was his job to eliminate threats to national security for S.H.I.E.L.D. He took his job seriously, and he took a lot of people out or in. Neatly, efficiently, and without feeling. Clint wondered sometimes if he was even capable of feeling anymore.

Coulson had assigned him to eliminate one such threat, a female spy and assassin who went by the code name “Black Widow”. Clint was good at what he did, damned good, and he found her within 48 hours of arriving in South Africa. He had seen photographs of her, the kinds of grainy shots you get off of surveillance cameras or when you’re doing a stakeout from a distance. Clint’s eyesight was almost superhuman, but he couldn’t do anything with pixels and grains and a woman in disguise, so he had only a rudimentary idea of what she looked like. He knew she was excellent at disguising herself, but he was excellent at picking out deceit. He knew she was on an assignment from a private citizen to kill a diamond dealer in Johannesburg. He had tracked the dealer to a club downtown converted from an old warehouse. He figured, correctly, that she would be wherever the mark was, and Clint now sat perched in the rafters watching her every move, undetected. Clint had picked her out of the crowd on the second sweep. The Widow’s eyes gave her away. They were hardened, like his. Entirely too hard to be so damn young.

He noted that she was incredibly beautiful. It didn’t matter, he would do the job, but he didn’t mind looking at her for the moment. Her hair was dark red, gently curled and fell just below her shoulders. She wore a white dress, sleeveless and short. Clint's lip curled a little at the irony of the Black Widow wearing a little white dress, and he wondered if that had been deliberate. Only a pair of diamond studs for jewelry. Minimal makeup. He caught himself thinking that any more than that would be gilding the lily, then scowled. She smiled, as if she had just read his thought, but the smile did not reach her eyes. She leaned over to whisper in her mark’s ear, and he recognized the signs of a master seductress. The light brushing of skin, crossing long, shapely legs that ended in stilettos, the batting of long lashes, the low, throaty laugh…all effective tools to turn almost every man into a quivering, pleading mess. The dealer was wealthy and surely had no shortage of women, but the Black Widow was poisoning him with seduction. Clint watched from above silently, waiting for his moment. It would come.

The couple finished dinner and got up to leave, escorted by two bodyguards. The Widow hesitated when the bodyguards came up to them and she asked her mark something out of Clint’s earshot. The diamond dealer put his arm on her shoulder and answered reassuringly, she seemed mollified. Clint’s sharp eyes and years of training saw the truth in her, though. _She knew._

The mark placed his hand on the Widow’s back and held his hand in front of her, guiding the way. She tensed and hesitated, glancing over at him, but obeyed silently. He recognized the act she was putting on, but wondered if David or the bodyguards did. They didn't look to be exceptionally well trained. Someone didn’t have to be well-rained to pose a threat, however. The bodyguards followed the diamond dealer and the Widow out a side door of the restaurant and Clint silently sprang into action, dashing down through the rafters in that direction.   

~*~

This wasn't what she expected, but she wasn’t alarmed. She had sized up the bodyguards and assessed their threat potential as soon as they had come around the corner as she did all of the people who entered her vicinity. Both were about a head taller than her and broad across the shoulder. Each of them had guns in their waistbands. Easy access for her. They would be a worthy fight, but nothing she couldn’t handle.

As soon as they got her out of the door and out of earshot, her mark - David - removed his hand from her back and the bodyguards each grabbed a bicep. She gave a token struggle, but went along. If they thought her weak and unable to fight, the element of surprise later would be to her benefit. They led her out of the building, across a short alley and into the adjoining building. As they entered, the Widow caught a tiny flash of movement from the rooftop of the building she had just left to the one she was entering. She registered it, but no one else seemed to. It was probably the man who had been watching from above at dinner. The Widow missed very little in her surroundings.

The bodyguards got rougher as they pushed her down the stairs. At the bottom of the stairs, a metal door with a small chicken wired window stood locked. David pressed a code into the keypad then opened the door, standing aside for the bodyguards to shove her inside. The sound that greeted them gave the Widow her first tingle of alarm.

Children were crying, pleading for help in multiple languages. She recognized almost all of the tongues she heard, and the disgust and pity on her face was genuine as she looked around. Wooden boxes and crates were stacked on metal shelving like most warehouses, but set back amongst the boxes were at least two cages like you would transfer large animals in. There were children in there, and she allowed herself to show horror when she looked at the young pleading faces. She realized with a start that they were all girls, and dread filled her. They were younger than her, but not by much. Her eyes hardened, as did her face. It was time.

~*~

“You are the Black Widow.”

Clint heard the mark’s accusation as he hastily but quietly chose his spot. The children were still crying softly, so silence wasn’t a necessity, but stealth was and he was being incredibly careful not to be seen. Not until it was time to leave the room with the job done.

It was a statement, not a question. She was shoved down into a chair and despite the near violence of her placement in the chair, she sat as regally as a queen. Her eyes narrowed and she looked at David with ball-shrivelling, deadly intent. Had Clint been a civilian, that look would have terrified him. As an expert in hand-to-hand combat, it aroused him. He respected that kind of courage.

“I was warned today of who you are. I want to know why you were sent for me. More than that, I want to know who sent you.”

The Widow smirked, sat back in her seat and slowly crossed her legs.

“Thanks for dinner.” Her English was accented, but precise. Her tone was clear.

Clint’s lip quirked in spite of himself.

“You can tell me, or you can suffer until you tell me. I would rather not harm you, you will bring a high price from a wealthy customer who wants a pretty plaything. I’m sure you’ve gathered by now that I don’t only deal in jewels. Talk, or Abrahem and Malik will make you talk. Your choice,” David said.

The Widow’s smirk grew even more sinister. Clint watched her carefully and could see her eyes darting around, absorbing her surroundings, looking for weapons, planning her attack. He silently drew his bow and thought about what a fucking fool this David was to leave her unrestrained. He would be dead within moments.

“You can go fuck yourself, or you can suck a bag of dicks. Either way, you’re getting fuck-all out of me, asshole.”

 _Damn_ , Clint thought. _She’s got a set._

The larger of the two bodyguards stepped up and backhanded her with a resounding smack. The Widow barely reacted, merely pulling her head back into position, locking eyes with the bodyguard. “For that, you are going to hurt before you die.”

Clint didn’t doubt for a moment that she meant it. He was watching this girl, mesmerized.

“You won't have time,” David said. He waved his hand dismissively and turned to go. “Dispose of her.”

Clint drew an arrow like lightning, but before he could line up the shot the Widow had disabled Malik, taken his pistol and shot David in the temple. She turned as Abrahem drew his weapon and shot him in the kneecap. Clint lowered his bow, watching carefully. The bodyguard howled and dropped his gun, and the Widow kicked it out of his reach. She turned and shot Malik in the head, ending his howling and struggle. She turned back to Abrahem, face like stone, and shot his other kneecap. He wailed, and she watched him for a moment, betraying no emotion. After a few beats, she raised her gun, shot him in the forehead, and he made no more sound.

Clint didn’t raise his bow.

~*~

The Widow heard the muffled sobbing of the terrified, unloved children, and knew they must have been even more traumatized than before by what they had just seen. She schooled her face to look reassuring and kind then dropped the gun. No need to terrify the children further. She went hurriedly to where they were being kept and started to pick the locks. “Its okay,” she said. “I’m going to let you go.” She repeated this in several languages, hoping to soothe them as she worked on the locks. She hadn’t counted on this, but the objective had been accomplished, her mark was dead. She intended to set fire to the building, and she drew the line at the murder of innocent children. She never wanted any child to go through what she had.

The Widow kept saying soothing things to them in the languages she recognized, and giving instructions to the older girls on how to get the younger girls to safety. There were about twenty girls in all, and when the last one was out of her cage, the Widow turned to see that they had all crowded behind her, hesitant to approach the spot where the dead men lay. “You must go! Run away!” she ordered loudly. “You are no longer under my protection. Leave!” The girls scurried away, crying loudly, and the Widow walked over to the nearest bodyguard to fetch a gun. Before she was able to bend, however, she heard him.

“That was a kind thing you did, having the reputation you do.”

~*~

She raised her hands and turned slowly to face him. Clint watched her carefully, but she gave nothing away. He sensed that she had forgotten he was there: a rookie mistake, and the Widow was no rookie. She smiled slowly at him, and his fingers tightened on his bow involuntarily.

“You hear that I am a monster, yes?”

“Something like that.”

“What else do you hear of me?”

“That you’re very, very good at what you do.”

“And what is it that you think I do?” She took a couple steps towards him, hands still raised, and he noticed that the sway of her hips was more pronounced.

_Oh no. Oh hell no. We’re not playing that game._

“What you’re going to do is come with me,” he said.

Her eyes widened in mock surprise, and her smile turned predatory. “Come with you?” She chuckled almost imperceptibly. “What for?”

“Call it a rescue.”

She laughed outright now, and Clint saw his opportunity. He let the arrow fly and was momentarily surprised when she dodged it and dove at him. He ducked her and spun around to sweep her leg as he was nocking another arrow and she rolled to a crouch. The Widow jumped over his sweep with the grace of a professional ballet dancer, hitting the bow out of his hands and kicking him to the ground. She landed on a long-forgotten screw lying on the ground, teetered a bit on her high heels and, sensing his advantage, Clint hooked the bottom of her stiletto while scrambling to his feet and sent her to the ground. He dove on top of her, pinning her, grabbed her by the hair, and banged her head into the ground with enough force to knock her out. She struggled a bit and he did it again. She went still.

Clint checked her pulse and breathing, watched her a moment to determine if she was faking it, decided she was not, and made the call.

“Coulson. I’m done. I’m bringing home a souvenir.” 


	2. Too Far Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint faces Fury's wrath, accepts his "punishment", and makes a promise to Natasha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm too far gone,  
> and it's no use pretending  
> I could ever forget what I've done.  
> I'm already too far gone,  
> I've got no bridges left to burn.  
> Its better to keep moving on.  
> It's such a long way down.  
> Too far to fall,  
> too much trouble to turn back around.
> 
> "Too Far Gone" - TR

"You must be out of your goddamn mind! Just who the _fuck_ do you think you are?"

Clint hadn't expected this meeting be sunshine and roses, but he hadn't been shot on sight for treason so he figured he was coming out ahead. Director Nick Fury was certainly living up to his name, however, and giving Clint a dose of his wrath. His handler, Phil Coulson, stood in the corner silently observing. He didn’t expect any help from Coulson, and knew that Coulson had almost certainly taken a hell of a reaming because of what he did. He felt guilty about it, an emotion he didn’t feel very often.

"Why the fuck would you disobey a direct order? Huh, Barton?" Answer me that shit.” Fury didn't wait for an answer, Clint hadn't expected him to. He was pacing behind his desk, occasionally stopping at one corner or another and moving his arms in such a way to suggest that he didn’t know what to do with them. Clint had seen him this agitated before, but had never been the recipient of that wrath. ”What kind of stupid-ass thought process were you having that made you decide that it would be a swell fucking idea to completely scrap the mission you were sent to do, and instead of killing the hostile, _bring her ass back_  to our fucking headquarters?!" Fury threw down a stack of papers, with a “Goddamn!” then paused, placed both hands on his desk, leaning forward and looked at Clint with his one eye.

Clint began. "Sir..."

"This had better be good. Goddamn good. You'd better have the best reason there ever was for blowing this mission, Barton, or I swear to God…" Fury started pacing again.

Clint waited for him to finish.

"I'm waiting!"

 _Shit._ Waited too long.

"Sir, she has it. Whatever it is, she's got it. She's good, damned good. She's almost fucking perfect. And she'd be a better asset to us than dead and rotting in some field."

Fury stopped pacing, uncrossed his arms and leaned across the desk again. "Are you telling me that you disobeyed a direct order and brought an enemy combatant into these headquarters because you had a _crush_?"

"Hell, no! No sir, no. I just saw her in action, and she's amazing. Her reputation for cunning and skill are well deserved. She's also a hell of a fighter. I think she'd serve us well."

Fury sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers, looking at Clint appraisingly. Clint knew that he was talking to the director of the greatest intelligence force in the world, and that nothing he had just said came as a surprise. Fury had just wanted to hear it from him. But Clint also smelled victory. He went on.

“Not only that, there were a buncha girls in that warehouse. Her mark wasn’t just dealing in diamonds, sir. She stayed after she killed the mark and let those girls out, making sure they got out safely. Most hired hands wouldn’t have done that. There’s good in her. She has the potential to be a force for good. I think she wants to be.”

Fury grinned and sat silently, apparently thinking, but there was a bit of malice in his good eye. The silence yawned, and Clint tried not to squirm.

"I tell you what, Agent Barton. We're going to take Natasha Romanov in. We're going to deprogram her. If it goes well and if she's as good as you said, then we're going to offer her a job here at S.H.I.E.L.D."

Clint tried to school his features so that the director wouldn't see his relief.

"However."

 _Shit._ Clint froze.

"You 'saved' her, she's your responsibility. She's on your ass. The programmers will handle her deprogramming, but you’re going to be involved and she's on you, from now on. Period. You're off missions until she's deprogrammed. Go talk to the programmers so they can get you involved. Our friend the Widow is going to need a friend."

Clint sat for a couple of minutes, stunned. Fury watched him, still smiling from behind his steepled fingers and swiveling a little in his chair. Coulson hadn’t moved. Clint knew that they had come into this meeting knowing exactly what they had planned for him and her. _Double damn!_ The last thing he wanted or needed was a fucking woman hanging around all the time, especially one who was a lethal weapon. And off missions! _Goddammit!_

”But sir, deprogramming takes months..."

"Oh, you misunderstood me, Barton," said Fury, "she's with you as long as she's with S.H.I.E.L.D."

Clint's jaw went slack, and he slumped back into his chair. Fury chuckled and stood up. “Cheer up, Hawkeye. I think it’ll be good for you to have a partner. You’ve been flying solo a long time.” He gathered up some papers on his desk. “Don’t say I never did you any favors.” Fury chuckled again, tapped his papers, and left the room.

~*~

The room was sterile, blank. There was nothing in there but a cot, washbasin/toilet, and mirror that she knew went two ways. She wasn’t sure how long she had been there, the lights were always on and she’d lost her sense of time. A couple of days, maybe. She’d been served five meals, which she turned away. She wasn’t going to be able to keep that up much longer if she was going to keep her strength up. No one had hurt her, save the guy who brought her in. She had been in much, much worse situations. But she had no indication of who these people were or what they wanted from her, and she was having a hard time keeping her poker face up.

The door opened and she tensed, ready to spring. A man walked in, and she recognized him. She coiled, ready to strike. She didn’t, however. She had been warned he was coming to talk to her, and that she must not harm him. 

He brought a chair, which she thought was exceptionally brave of him. She could weaponize almost anything, and it would be a simple thing to kill him with that chair. She smiled a little at the thought, and he followed her train of thought.

“I wouldn’t recommend it, Romanov. I’m here to talk to you, peacefully. It’s a bit harder to do that if we’re fighting for our lives.”

He turned the chair around with the back facing her and sat astride, crossing his arms on the back. She took this for what it was, a further sign of trust. He would be impeded by the chair by sitting in that position if she attacked and they both knew it. For a few moments they sized each other up, saying nothing. Clint wasn’t quite sure how to say what needed to be said - interrogations weren’t his specialty, sniping was. He weighed his words carefully, debating with himself. Finally Clint broke the silence.

“My name is Clint Barton. I was sent to kill you, but I disobeyed orders because I saw something special in you. Most mercenaries would not have saved those children from the fate they were doomed to.” She tensed visibly, and he pretended not to notice. “I think you have the makings of an excellent agent for S.H.I.E.L.D. I brought you in because I think you are redeemable, and that S.H.I.E.L.D. can give you a better life, one where you are more protected than your life as a mercenary on your own.”

She scoffed. “I am beyond redemption.”

“I don’t think so. You are not too far gone.”

“I am.”

“Why?”

She spat at his feet. “Fuck you.”

She turned away and sat silently. Clint sat perfectly still, waiting. Finally, “You will not be harmed here. No one is going to hurt you, I swear it. You will be subjected to a battery of tests and questioned. However, your questioning will not consist of torture. You will eventually be let out of this room. Your trust of us will gain our trust in you. And I am going to become your best friend.”

“I don’t believe in friendship. And if even if I did, I would rather go back to the danger and uncertainty of life as a mercenary than become your ‘best friend’. Do not think I’m not aware of what you mean by that, Mr. Barton. Do not think I don’t know your intentions towards me.”

He smiled. “Apparently you don’t. I want nothing from you or for you but your safety and friendship. I mean to see you settled in safely here at S.H.I.E.L.D., knowing that you can trust us, and me. If you still want to leave after it has been determined that you are no longer a threat to our national security, I promise that you can leave safely. But while you are here, I will personally see to it that you are kept safe. You will be safe here. I swear on my life, Ms. Romanov.”


	3. A Shift in Opinion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha re-evaluates her living arrangements at S.H.I.E.L.D.

Clint came to visit Natasha every day. He always brought some small comfort item to her: an extra blanket, a soda, a word puzzle book, pizza. What started as short visits of less than ten minutes with stony silence from her turned into hour long visits with small talk. Natasha revealed very little; Clint did most of the talking, but he didn’t mind. After several weeks of her cooperating with the interrogators and deprogrammers, the psychologists moved her into a room with a window and some scant furniture. Clint started coming twice a day, delivering food and bringing a movie every now and then. Natasha, who had been insulated from almost all western culture, found that she liked a lot of 80’s comedies like Raising Arizona and Trading Places, and she really seemed to enjoy Mel Brooks movies. Clint was delighted - those were all his favorites. They fell into an easy rapport of chat, Clint not revealing too much, Natasha revealing even less, but both telling the other trivial things that could build trust and friendship. Clint told Natasha about growing up in the circus around all of the animals and clowns. She was curious, she had never seen a circus. He promised to take her someday. She told him about her ballet training as a young child. They talked about music quite a bit. Natasha was very interested to learn more about types and styles of music beyond the opera and classical she was familiar with, having been in ballet. Clint obliged, bringing in CDs from lots of different artists and genres, leaving them with her to listen to. 

After several more weeks of cooperation, she was rewarded with a move into another room, this one more apartment-like, with a living area, bedroom and bathroom. She still wasn’t allowed a kitchen or the utensils that came with it, but she understood and didn’t hold a grudge about it. She was surprised to find that she looked forward to Clint’s visits every day. He still brought her little comfort items, and she recognized the trust he was putting in her in some of the items he was bringing. A glass vase for her coffee table, art for her wall with metal frames. He was bringing things that he was well aware could be weaponized, but he was trusting her not to use them to harm him. She didn't want to. Natasha was bemused when she discovered that she wanted him to trust her - it was a feeling she had never had before. She found herself liking the man who had taken her captive. She began to laugh. She began to trust. She was pleased that he laughed with her, and was putting his faith in her as well. 

After six months in captivity, she realized that she no longer thought of herself as being in captivity. Her little rooms felt more safe and secure than she had ever felt in her life, she felt no threat from Clint, and while she didn’t completely trust the other people she dealt with, she didn’t fear them. Clint had been true to his word: no one had threatened her. She had not been harmed in any way. The worst harm that had come to her was that she had not been able to keep herself as physically fit as she would like and had gone a bit soft from lack of real exercise. It had been ages since she had had a good workout. She had been provided with healthy food (and whatever terrible food she asked Clint for - they particularly enjoyed Chinese), civilian clothes that were comfortable and of good quality, a warm, safe and comfortable place to live, and a friend she trusted in Clint. She didn’t want to leave, she didn’t want to betray this man or this institution that had saved her. When all the pieces came together and she came to the realization that she wanted to stay with S.H.I.E.L.D., in this safe place, she had to sit down from the gravity of the thought.

The next morning when Clint visited, she told him that she wanted to stay. He smiled brightly and told her he was glad, he had hoped she would. The deprogrammers and her psychologist came earlier than usual that afternoon, Clint having tipped them off that she wanted to stay. She told them everything she had been holding back. Three weeks later, she was moved into a tiny apartment and granted permission to go to the gym to begin training with Clint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More chapters coming soon....I hope you're enjoying reading as much as I'm enjoying writing!


	4. The Final Obstacle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha has one more test to pass.

S.H.I.E.L.D Headquarters, November 2006

“Agent Barton, step in here please."

Clint followed Coulson into his office and spotted Director Fury behind Coulson’s desk. Clint hesitated half a beat before he walked in and sat down across from Fury. Coulson followed him in and perched on the desk, crossing his arms and looking down. Clint had hoped for an assignment - he was bored as shit training this new crop of recruits, save Natasha - but he had a feeling that’s not why he had been called on the carpet.

"Director? What’s up?”

Nick Fury rocked back in Coulson’s chair. “Agent Barton. I like to consider myself a fair man, and an honest man. And I’m man enough to admit when someone else is right and I’m wrong.” Clint waited to see what he would say next. He'd worked for Fury a lot of years, and he usually knew to keep quiet. “You were right about Romanov. Thus far, she seems to be an agent of exceptional quality. Her interrogation simulations are the best any of us have ever seen, her aptitude tests are off the charts, she's never lost to a female agent in hand-to-hand sparring and has beaten all of the men at least once. Including you.” Fury gave him a crooked grin, apparently intending to get a rise out of him, but Clint didn’t flinch. He knew they expected him to be humiliated, but he wasn’t. He was proud of her. And if he were going to go down in a fight to someone, he would much rather it be Natasha than some of these stupid ass new recruits. Fury continued, “Further, all of her psych exams are coming back clean. She’s cleared for duty as an agent.”

Clint relaxed visibly and smiled. “So when do we -“

Fury held up a hand. “Hold up, Hawkeye. There’s no ‘we’ yet.”

Clint looked confused. “I don’t understand. You said she was going to be my partner.”

“She is your partner, Barton. But she’s got to go out alone first.”

Clint started to see where they were going, and he wasn’t sure he liked it.

Coulson uncrossed his arms and put his hands on the desk behind him. “Agent Barton, psych has assured us that the Black Widow is no longer a threat to us and our national security. However, we have to test that for ourselves. She is being sent on a mission - alone - that will test her loyalty. This is not a simulation, she is going as an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. to accomplish an objective for us. The objective is important, but not crucial. What’s crucial is knowing where her loyalties lie.”

Clint was processing quickly. “I understand, sir. I don’t doubt her at all. Either her ability to accomplish the objective nor her loyalties.”

Fury moved to put his elbows on the desk. “Good,” he said, “because if she defects or betrays us, she will be killed.” He steepled his forefingers, put them to his lips and watched Clint closely.

Clint stiffened. Coulson sat down in the chair next to him and turned facing him, his body language open. Time to play Good Cop. “Clint, think about it a moment. She knows too much about us and our inner workings here. If she defects, she’s putting all of us and by extension countless lives potentially at risk. We can’t let that happen. You understand that. I know you do.”

“Yes, sir. I understand.” _And if she’s killed, I’ll find the son of a bitch who did it and put an arrow through his fucking throat._

“Good,” said Fury, leaning back into his chair while watching Clint.

“How will you know if she’s betrayed us? Or defected?”

“She has a time limit of seventy-two hours to accomplish the objective. If she hasn’t, or we lose contact for more than twelve, we give the order.” Clint’s jaw flexed involuntarily. Fury didn't miss it. “As far as betrayal goes, we’ll know.”

“I assume I’m not allowed to see her before she leaves?”

“She’s already gone,” Coulson said.

Clint’s heart skipped a beat. “So either she’s home in 72 hours or she’s dead.”

“Yes.”

_Jesus._

“Thank you, sirs.”

He got up and left the room. Fury watched him go, watching the door close behind him. “I feel damn sorry for those recruits right now.”

Clint went to the sparring ring and beat the hell out of recruits until he couldn’t feel his hands anymore.

~*~

 

His cell phone was ringing, some obnoxious fucking midi melody that made him want to kick puppies - especially when it went off in the morning on his bedside table. Especially when he had been asleep. And especially when that sleep had been partially induced by Jim Beam. He looked at the clock. 5:12am. _Fuck._ He grabbed it and flipped it open.

“Yeah?” It was Coulson.

“Romanov’s on her way back. She called two hours ago, she’s in the air. Mission accomplished.”

Clint sat up. Too fast, it hurt. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

“How long - “

“Twenty-nine hours from departing S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters to the call for pickup.”

Clint let out a huge breath that he hadn't realized he was holding and smiled. “So what happens now?”

“She’ll be debriefed, and then you guys will start working both together and separately in the field. You’re back on missions, starting immediately.”

Clint wanted to whoop, but thought better of it. “Thank you.”

“You earned it. And Agent Barton?”

“Yes sir?”

“She does not know that this mission was also a test of her loyalty. She’s incredibly intelligent and we’re sure that she suspects it, but we do not want her told about this. We feel that to do so would betray the trust that we’ve worked so hard to build with her. Do you understand?”

“Understood.”

“Thank you. Oh, and one more thing.”

“Yes sir?”

“Good call in Johannesburg.”

The line went dead and Clint shut the phone. He laid back on the bed and covered his eyes with his arm, grinning. _The recruits are going to be over the goddamn moon about this_ , he thought, then chuckled.


	5. Coping Mechanisms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha reflects on her miserable past, and how it affects her present...and her future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Falling out of a world of lies  
> Could I have been a dancing Nancy... a dancing Nancy?
> 
> Could I have been anyone other than me?
> 
>  
> 
> "Dancing Nancies" - Dave Matthews Band

S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters, September 2008

 

 

Natasha was punishing the sparring dummy. It was a damned miracle the thing hadn't cried uncle or exploded, but she was sure as hell trying to make it do something.

That was all she knew to do right now, and she was afraid to get into the ring with an actual person, the way she was feeling at the moment. She had had it indoctrinated into her as a child not to express her emotions outwardly, and while she had been deprogrammed by S.H.I.E.L.D. and didn’t hold with those beliefs anymore, old habits died hard. Especially ones that had been beaten, starved, frozen and burned into her. She learned young that love and friendship were dangerous, and she learned those lessons by having the Red Room destroy or kill anything and everything she cherished in front of her to toughen her up. She learned to not give a damn, because caring put everyone involved in danger. She learned to channel her anger into fighting, and into her dancing. The psychologists and deprogrammers at S.H.I.E.L.D. had taught her differently, but the Red Room had ingrained both into her so deeply at such a young age that they were almost instinct. Natasha Romanov was superb at both.

During her time at the Red Room training facility, she couldn’t understand why a group of people who killed without mercy so frequently would want her to study something so beautiful as ballet, and so diligently. She practiced for three hours a day every morning, before she went on to her other lessons. When she didn’t, she was beaten or if it was cold enough, thrown out into the winter for a couple of hours, until frostbite threatened. They demanded that she be perfect, as perfect a dancer as she was a fighter. She was ordered to study science, technology, math, languages, and political science well beyond the scope of what a child her age should have been capable of. Thankfully, Natasha (she had been Natalia then) had a near-genius IQ and could keep up. The children who couldn’t were disposed of as dead weight.

Her handler, Mikhail, saw great potential in her and drove her twice as hard as the other girls he handled. He also convinced the directors of the Red Room of her superiority. She was given “enhancements” which improved her physically and mentally. She became faster, better, stronger, smarter. As she grew older, she understood why they had her learn to dance; her lithe grace and flexibility combined with her strength and the ruthlessness they had bred into her made her lethal. She was a master assassin by fourteen and when she was voluptuous enough to pass for an older woman at fifteen, she was trained as an adult spy for the KGB. Her role was clear: she was to be a _femme fatale_ , with the emphasis on the “fatale”. Part of that training involved her being taken to some doctor and having her reproductive system altered. She had no idea what they had done, all that they had told her was that whatever they had done to her had made it so she would never have to worry about a baby getting in the way of her work. She didn’t care. She wasn’t allowed to love anyway.

Within a year of becoming a full KGB agent at seventeen, she had a worldwide reputation and a nickname - The Black Widow - a reputation she both enjoyed and feared. She was clearly the best of the best; everyone wanted her, for one reason or another. This made her revered and targeted. For a young woman who should have been deciding what to do with her life, going to colleges, dating, starting a family…none of these were options. She was a murderer with a target on her back. She would never live to middle age, and she knew it. Her life was not her own, and it was destined to be short.

Then she went rogue and started doing mercenary work. The money was fabulous, and her renown was such that she was in high demand and could pick and choose at will. She was very, very good and she was whispered about in dark corners, almost a living myth. Six months after defecting from the KGB, Hawkeye had found her and brought her in. Natasha no longer felt that there was a gun being held to her head at all times. There was danger to her job, sure, but most of the time, she felt safe and protected. She will never stop being grateful to him, and to S.H.I.E.L.D. for that.

But there were things that had been indoctrinated into her by the Red Room and couldn’t be extracted, no matter what. Like the fear of letting people get too close. Like her belief that love is for children and has no place in her life. Like her belief that friendships were dangerous.

The last time she had a friend, Mikhail had pulled the girl into the courtyard by the hair and shot her in the head while Natasha watched. He had no reason to do it other than the fact that he found out about their secret friendship. Anya was killed instead of Natasha because Natasha had more potential. Anya’s hair was a dull blonde while Natasha’s was a vibrant red. Anya had a slight overbite and Natasha didn’t. Anya’s _arabesques_ weren’t as high or as straight as Natasha’s. She was inferior, so she was murdered for the crime of friendship. Natasha had vowed to never have another friend or love anyone else, and she hadn’t. Until Clint.

She knew the exact moment she had fallen in love with her partner. It was in Jamaica, last summer. They were after a drug kingpin and posing as a couple of newlyweds, which necessitated the closeness and touching that newlyweds enjoy. Natasha and Clint had played a similar role at least a dozen times before in one form or another: the loving couple. It had never been a problem. They’d become so close since becoming partners and going on so many missions that they thought as one most of the time, and there was virtually no embarrassment between the two of them anymore. They had shared rooms, seen each other clothed and unclothed, stitched each other up, shared beds, none of it sexual or romantic. They were best friends and partners and when they had to play a role, they played it to perfection.

They had had their hands all over each other all that week in Jamaica while out in public, keeping up the appearances they had to as the newly minted Mr. and Mrs. Daniel and Jennifer Kohler from DesMoines. They hadn’t had a “couple” assignment in a couple of months, and she found herself enjoying this particular assignment more than she probably should have. Every time he touched her, she felt her heart flutter a little. Natasha idly wondered if that was normal. She’d never had any girlfriends to talk to about things like this, nor reason to talk to anyone about it. But the moment, the actual moment, came when they were at the pool, surveilling the area the kingpin’s girlfriend was known to sunbathe. They wanted Natasha to make friends with her, so they were watching the pool. It had been Clint's idea to have a little fun while they were watching for her. Natasha had been sitting on the side of the pool, dangling her feet in. He had been playfully splashing her, and she was splashing back. He came over, grabbed her and tossed her over his shoulder with her squealing, pretending to be helpless, then he dunked her under the water. She came up sputtering and laughing and wiping the wet hair out of her face. He grabbed her by the waist, pulled her body against his, leaned in and said, “You are so beautiful, Natasha.” Then he kissed her.

Not Jennifer. _Natasha._

In that moment, she was lost to him. No other man would ever do. It was Clint or nothing. She put her arms around his neck and kissed him back, putting her whole heart into that kiss and praying he would never stop. But he eventually did, putting his forehead to hers and smiling at her. She smiled back, and then after a minute splashed him. But her pulse never really got back to normal that day, and every time she's seen him since, it's spiked. She didn't know that was even possible, and due to a lack of female friends, she wasn't sure that's how these things worked. She suspected it was. She had heard mention in movies of things like this before that mission, so she tried not to panic. After that mission, she got a trashy romance novel to find out if what she was experiencing was normal. Natasha ordered it in Russian so Clint wouldn't know what it was if he spotted it in her apartment. She read the book, and it turned out the woman in the book had the same type of feelings she had. The woman also disgusted her: she was weak, dependent, clingy, all of the things Natasha scorned in women. Yet Natasha was having the same feelings as this woman. She was confused, frustrated, angry and in love. _Fucking hell_.

She has relived that moment thousands of times in her mind, the moment that he stole her heart forever. And since that moment last summer, although she still plays the role of _femme fatale_ for S.H.I.E.L.D., she has not let a man touch her intimately. She’s played her role to perfection, flirting, stroking egos, dancing with targets and kissing if she has to. But she refuses to fuck them. She always tried to avoid it before, ever since she got to S.H.I.E.L.D., but sometimes you had to do what you had to do. Not anymore, though. She just can’t. The thought of letting another man touch her leaves her cold - even if Clint hasn't ever touched her. So in the arsenal she carries on her person at all times, she’s also carried a couple of tiny glass vials. One of them slips into a drink if the mark starts getting too handsy. No one knows about this, and if anyone ever does a toxicology report on one of her kills, Natasha’s going to be fucked in a whole different way. But she’s willing to take that risk: she just can’t tolerate the thought of anyone else touching her.

None of this alleviates her fear, however, of having made herself vulnerable by falling in love with this man. It was beaten into her that to have any weaknesses was to guarantee your own destruction. She has spent hours and hours of the last year telling herself that she doesn’t love him, that’s its all some delayed adolescent thing, or that she’s got a princess complex going on because he saved her and he’s just the handsome prince. All of those are plausible, right? But Natasha knows better, and she can’t fool herself no matter how much she’s tried. And God knows she’s fucking tried. She’s frustrated by her inability to talk herself back into her safe little corner where she doesn’t care about anyone but herself. She cares _now_ , goddammit. She _feels_ and she doesn’t know that she wants to feel. Having feelings - even good feelings - makes you vulnerable. It gives you an underbelly. It gives you a _weakness._ And now, she has feelings. _Goddammit_.

Emotions apparently weren’t beaten out of her in the Red Room, they were only beaten down, and now they’re taking root and sprouting again. Not only sprouting, the bastards are threatening to bloom. _Fuck_. She doesn’t know how to cope with feeling this vulnerable, this unsafe. She doesn’t know what to do. This is uncharted territory for her, and it’s fucking terrifying. Natasha Romanov doesn’t cope well with fear.

So she beats the hell out of the sparring dummy.


	6. Prague

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha makes a terrible mistake and is devastated by the consequences. Clint gives her the comfort she needs...comfort no one else on earth could give her, and that she would accept from nobody but him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She says that love is for fools that fall behind  
> And I'm somewhere between  
> I never really know  
> A killer from a savior  
> 'Til I break at the bend
> 
> "Shimmer" - Fuel

Prague, July 2009

In all of their missions together over the last few years, they’d never failed to accomplish an objective. They may have had some things that didn't go quite according to plan, but they never truly failed. For that reason, Strike Team Delta was known around S.H.I.E.L.D. as the team you called when you wanted to make sure shit got done.

They worked well as a team, better than either of them had ever expected. They were both masters in hand-to-hand combat (Natasha being slightly better than Clint), both were top notch assassins with knives, guns and poison, Natasha was the best interrogator S.H.I.E.L.D. had ever had and Clint was the best sniper, so they worked together more than they didn’t. Their styles were different, but complimentary. They had learned each other's movements, tells, weaknesses, strengths, and had gotten to a point where they could predict each other's movements. Clint and Natasha were a cohesive unit. When fighting together they moved as one, like well-trained dancers who knew how and when to curve around each other in order to complete the spin, gain the lift, catch each other. They were fluid, and beautiful to watch. Their trust in each other was total and implicit. 

Over the years, the combination of shared high-intensity experiences and long hours together with only each other to rely on built a rock-solid partnership they both valued above anything else in their lives. They each protected the other with their lives, and had done so many times. They had put each other’s safety above their own more times than they could count, and had done so without thinking. They had shared secrets of their sad histories, made themselves vulnerable to one another. They would also protect each other’s confidences with their lives.

Nothing about this mission had gone right; Murphy’s Law had been all over this one. They had found the arms dealer - Michal Dominik - easily enough in Prague, but so far they hadn’t been able to get the intel they needed before the planned elimination. He was smart, he was slippery, and he hadn’t taken Natasha’s bait like they expected him to. Clint didn't know how to feel about that. He absolutely hated the honeypot missions where Natasha had to cozy up to a mark…the thought of her offering up her body made him sick to his stomach. But the fact that this man didn’t want her left him confused and almost offended. How could any man not want Natasha?

When she finally did catch his eye, they both seemed relieved that the mission could move forward. Dominik seemed to smell something, however, and Clint was antsy about it. He wanted to scrap the mission and go in another way, but Natasha felt sure she could get what they needed. S.H.I.E.L.D. knew he was smuggling weapons and meant to put a stop to it, but they didn’t know where the next stop in the line was and needed to know before they took him out. It had taken almost a week of Natasha’s best flirting before Dominik called for her. She had worn things that shouldn't qualify as clothes, in Clint's opinion, attempting to seduce the target. Finally, though, he had taken the bait of sexy arm candy that spoke Slavic like a native. Natasha's mission was to first plant eyes and ears as many places as she could, plus get him talking. Clint kept a watchful eye on everything and was armed every moment. He felt in his gut that this wasn't going to end well, though, and he was afraid for Natasha.

On the tenth night of the mission, Dominik brought Natasha to a sumptuous penthouse she hadn’t seen before. A large balcony overlooked the city beyond the open french doors and fluttering gossamer curtains. The penthouse was obviously creme de la creme with expensive velvet couches, a large bed with silk duvet…a very impressive spread. Champagne sat in a bucket of ice. _A new place to plant wires_. She smiled seductively at him and pulled off her silk wrapper, letting it dangle on one finger before dropping it on the couch. “You want to romance me in a new place?”

“Something like that.” He pulled out a brown hard-case briefcase with a leather cover and opened it, revealing some machinery with flip switches. Natasha recognized what it was immediately, and touched her hip where the panic button was hidden, pressing it. Two men stepped out from behind a door, pistols drawn and pointed at her. She took a couple of steps backwards, putting on a panicked look, knowing that's what the character she was playing would do. She looked around again, taking in her surroundings and looking for things to weaponize as she did out of habit.

“Who are you?”, Dominik asked cordially and seemingly unconcerned, looking up at her after he asked.

She smiled seductively and started towards him, hips swaying. “I’m Denisa, baby. You know this.”

He crossed the room in four large steps, backhanded her and spat, “Lies! And for every lie you tell, I will flip one of these switches.”

She looked at him with a bleeding lip, wary and pretending ignorance. “What do these switches do?”

“Patrik, Jakub, come.” He grabbed her by the arm roughly and dragged her to the balcony. The men with guns followed, one of them carrying the briefcase and setting it on a table beside Dominik. He directed her to look into the city, slightly to the left. “See that hospital right there?” She nodded. “There is a bomb at every entrance, exit and fire escape at that hospital. For every lie you tell me, I flip a switch and detonate a bomb. Think very carefully, _Denisa_." He snarled the name. "I know you are not who you claim to be. You’ve already told one lie.” He flipped a switch, and the emergency entrance exploded two blocks away, the blast pushing them slightly back. “And I see another lie in your eyes.” Another switch flipped, another bomb.

“ _NO_!” she screamed, jerking her arm out of his grasp. “I am Denisa!” Another flip. Natasha screamed and brought her hands to her face. Another flip, this for no reason.

The accompanying blast seemed to knock the fog from her brain. She grabbed Dominik’s wrist, flipping him backwards over himself and onto Jakub, briefly immobilizing both of them. With her other hand, she drew the the knife she had hidden on her thigh and attacked, dodging Patrik as he put his arm towards her to shoot. He fired and she spun towards him, knocking the gun from his hand and stabbing him. She spun away, knife still in her hand as he roared in rage and charged. She arched away, slanting the knife and slashing Patrik’s throat. Then a swoosh and thud, a second swoosh and a thud, and Jakub and Dominik fell at her feet with an arrow in their chests, their attempts to get up thwarted, a red stain spreading across their chests.

Natasha whirled around and there he was on the next roof, her savior, all in black with a red light still trained on Jakub’s chest in case he stirred.

~*~

 

One entrance to the hospital was left undamaged and a large number of people were able to escape. Thankfully, it was the third shift and they were running on a skeleton crew. The casualties, however, were heavy. In particular, the maternal/fetal medicine unit and pediatrics ward had been destroyed. Clint brought a silent and bloody Natasha back to the safe house. He called in to Coulson, giving a brief report and requesting transport out.

He hung up the phone and turned around. “They’ll have us out of here in five hours…Nat?” He had figured she would stay where he was so they could prepare for debriefing as they usually did, but she wasn’t there. “Nat?” No answer. He looked around the house, calling out gently, and found her in her bedroom, in her bra and panties curled around a pillow and crying silently. She had cleaned the blood off of herself, there were bloody towels next to her discarded cocktail dress and high heels, but she still wore her diamonds and her mascara was making a terrible mess. He walked over and sat softly on the bed in front of her knees, putting his hand up to stroke her hair. “Nat?”

“I choked. I fucking _choked_ , Clint. And I killed all those people. That’s on me. Oh, _God_ …the _babies_ …” and she sobbed in earnest, not trying to hide it.

“Hey, hey…c’mere.” He scooped her up like a child and pulled her into his lap, cradling her gently. She put her arms around his neck, burying her face into his neck. He laid his cheek on her hair gently, inhaling her scent, and rubbed circles on her back idly as she sobbed brokenly. “Nat, sweetheart, shhh. We’ve lost civilians before. What’s got you this time?”

She couldn’t answer for a while, she just cried. He rocked her gently, knowing what she needed and how to comfort her: what no one else could give and what she would take from no one else. She nuzzled deeper into him, seeking his warmth and protection without thinking. He whispered sweet nothings, letting her know that he was there, she was safe, she would always be safe with him. After a while he went silent, sensing she wanted - needed - to talk. He tucked her head under his chin, letting her know without words that he would listen while he kept rocking and softly stroking her back gently.

“I froze," she said. “I don't know what came over me. I’ve not panicked in years. But something happened, and I just…I choked.”

He waited a few moments to see if she would say anything else. When she didn’t, only snuffled and gave short sobs at intervals, he soothed her. “That happens to all of us, Nat.”

“All the other times we’ve lost civilians, it’s been because they were caught in the crossfire, or something else. This time, it was directly because of me…and…I just…oh!” she started crying again, and he kissed her head, noting her scent again.

“It’s okay. It's _okay_ , sweetheart. He was going to do what he did anyway. He used you as an excuse. Okay? This is not your fault. You did everything you could. You did much, much more than anyone else in your situation would have or could have done. If it had been anyone else up there, that hospital would have burned to the ground. You saved people tonight. I wasn't there in time to stop him, but you stopped him from killing everyone. You’re a hero.” She let a little sob go with that and he squeezed her gently. “You _are_. I’m proud of you.” He brushed his lips in her hair, letting them linger. “You’re my best friend, Tasha. I don’t hang around with shitty people.” He squeezed her gently and hesitated a few beats, deciding. “You saved me tonight, you know.”

She looked up, blinking red-rimmed eyes at him confusedly. “What? How?”

“It’s true.”

Natasha wiped at her eyes distractedly. “I’m not following.”

“I got there _after_ you disabled Dominik, when you were stabbing that bodyguard.” She tucked her head back down onto his chest as if she wasn't hearing what she expected and didn't want to hear the rest. He began rocking her again. “If you had pressed the panic button a second later, or had attacked Dominik a second earlier, I wouldn’t have made it in time. You could have been killed. And Nat?” He raised her chin up with one finger to look at her, and she looked at him with watery green eyes. He pierced her with his vibrant blue eyes, bleeding sincerity with every word.

“If something happened to you, I would never be okay again. _Never_.”

Tears spilled from her eyes. He brushed them away with his thumb and kissed her forehead, then put his cheek there and rocked her a bit more. She snuffled and stayed quiet in his arms. He held her for a long time, stroking her back softly with his thumb and listening to her sniffle occasionally. After a long while he said, “Here, let’s get you in the warm before you catch your death.” 

She smiled weakly but let him deposit her in the bed. He kissed her on the temple after he covered her and turned to leave. “Goodnight, Natasha.”

“Wait!” She sat up in the bed, clutching the covers to her chest and he turned around in the doorway. She looked all around the room, anywhere but at him. Then, seeming to make a decision, she looked directly at him and asked, “Will you stay?”

They looked at each other for a long moment.  They had shared beds and slept beside each other countless times. They had seen each other in various states of undress. They were as close as two people could be without being lovers. But he looked at her now, her swollen raccoon eyes and red nose, soft and vulnerable, asking for his protection, and…

Clint smiled softly. “Scoot over.”

She obliged, he toed off his boots and laid down. She rolled over into the crook of his arm, twined one leg with his and whispered “Thank you.” He kissed the top of her head one last time, pulled her close and closed his eyes. He felt rather than saw the tears staining his shirt as she drifted off to sleep.

Clint laid awake, realizing that he had just lost another battle in a war he’d been fighting for a couple of years, and wondering how much longer he could hold out.


	7. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint loses contact during a mission, leading everyone to believe he's missing, and it's Natasha's greatest fear realized.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'd give up forever to touch you  
> 'Cause I know that you feel me somehow  
> You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be  
> And I don't wanna go home right now
> 
> And all I can taste is this moment  
> And all I can breathe is your life  
> When sooner or later it's over  
> I just don't wanna miss you tonight
> 
> "Iris" ~Goo Goo Dolls

November, 2009

He really hated flying commercial. The amount of shit he had to put up with to get security clearance and through security without blowing one of his covers was ridiculous, but since his comm had been destroyed, he didn't have a choice. He couldn’t call S.H.I.E.L.D. from an unsecured line, there really wasn’t any other option. He had to just convince the TSA that he wasn’t a threat to national security. It took hours, but finally he was through and on his way home, although nobody knew it. Nobody had known where he was for the last three and a half days, and he was going to have a hell of a lot of explaining to do. 

The plane landed at 1:45am. He grabbed his carry on, deplaned and immediately made his way out of the building. Clint hailed a cab and gave the cabbie an address twelve blocks away from headquarters, a safe house. He dropped his bag in the foyer beside the door and briefly considered flopping down in the bed and sleeping until noon. Surely Coulson could wait until then. But Clint had better work ethic than that, and he knew Natasha would kill him if he made her worry while he slept, so he changed into the clothes he had grabbed at some fancy, overpriced shop in London, threw the clothes he had just changed out of back into his bag, got into the car in the safe house’s garage and took off to HQ. He felt stupid in these clothes, and they chafed. But they were the type of clothes Natasha would like, and maybe that's why he had bought them instead of something cheaper and more comfortable. Hell if he knew. 

He wished he didn't have to see Coulson. He wished he could go straight to Natasha's apartment, curl into bed around her and....no. No, no, best not go there, or he'd have to take a detour to his apartment after all. Not that she didn't drive him to do that a lot. 

He got in through the garage with his retinal scan, wondering for a flash of a second if the fact that his eyes were so red made any difference. The door whooshed open and he headed to the nearest phone to call Coulson.

"Yeah."

"It's Barton. I'm back."

"I know, I was alerted. I'm on my way down to my office, meet me there in five minutes.” Clint was too tired to be surprised that Coulson would know he was back, and he shouldn't have been anyway. The man knew everything. 

Clint was standing beside the door of Coulson's office when he got there. Coulson pressed some numbers on a keypad then put his thumb to a pad. The door clicked. "Come on in." Clint followed. "We'll keep this brief, I know you're exhausted and not fully prepared. Did you get it done?"

"Yes. Smythe was neutralized."

"What happened to your comm?"

"All of it was destroyed, sir."

Coulson blinked. "All of it?"

"Yes, sir. They followed me to the safe house and blew it up. All I had on my person were my bow, quiver, and two glocks." 

“Yet you still accomplished the mission?"

Clint gave him a cocky grin. "Of course I did, sir."

Coulson returned the smile. "Go. You can debrief later today. Four o'clock, back here."

Clint raised an eyebrow. "I'm pretty tired, Coulson, but I don't need thirteen hours of sleep."

Coulson just smiled. "Just go to your apartment and take a break. That's an order. See you at four."

~*~

Clint was bemused, not really knowing what to think. He didn't particularly want to go back to his apartment, he wanted to go to Natasha's. He knew she would be worried about him and he wanted to let her know he was back. He supposed he could call her, but that was impersonal, and they weren't an impersonal...wow, he had almost thought "couple". _Damn. Get a hold of yourself, Barton._ Why the hell had Coulson made going to his apartment an order? It finally occurred to him that if he went to his place for a few minutes, maybe got a drink or something, he could take off for Nat's and be following orders but doing what he felt like, too. _The best of both worlds. That's the way to go._

He opened his apartment door to find flickering blue light and sounds coming from his living room. He drew his glock and crept in. Turning the corner, he took in the scene and lowered his weapon.

Natasha lay asleep on his couch. Her red hair was fanned out across his favorite pillow. She was wearing his Iowa Hawkeyes tshirt that was worn almost threadbare and was three sizes two big for her, and she had pulled the quilt off of his bed, snuggled into it. There were Chinese containers on the coffee table: the General Tso's she preferred was gone, but the moo goo gai pan he always ordered was sitting there, waiting on him. There was bottle of Jim Beam with about two fingers missing sitting there. He found the missing whiskey, it was sitting virtually untouched on the side table beside where she slept. "Coming To America," one of their favorite movies, was playing on the TV. Eddie Murphy yelled, "Yes! Yes! Fuck you, too!"

Even in the dark, even in sleep, he could tell she had been crying. 

She had surrounded herself with him. All of these things were things that they shared, or that reminded her of him. _Oh, God, had she missed him that much? Could she possibly care that much?_

He put his gun down, grabbed the remote, muted the TV. "Natasha?" 

She stirred and blinked, then started and leapt to her feet in attack position. Clint opened his stance just a bit in case she did attack, but recognition dawned on her face and a hundred emotions crossed it at once. Suddenly, her face crumpled and she jumped on him, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. 

"Oh God, Clint, I thought I'd lost you. I thought you were gone forever.” She clutched him tightly, as if he were the only thing keeping her from falling into an abyss she could never escape from. 

Clint, beaming, wrapped one arm around her back and put another under her ass for support. He nuzzled her as he shushed her. "I'm home, sweetheart, I'm fine. I'm so sorry I scared you."

"Please don't ever do that again. _Please_."

"I won't. I'll try."

"Don't _try_ , Clint. Don't _do_ it. Please don't leave me."

"Shhh, sweetheart.” He couldn’t stop smiling. He just couldn’t. The fact that she had missed him so much made him happier than he ever thought possible. “It's okay, I'm home. I came home to you."

She pulled her head back to look at him, her fingers still in his hair. "You came home… to me?"

_Oh Christ, did I fuck this up?_ He thought hard, but fast. _Might as well go for broke._ He smiled. "I did." 

She was kissing him, and he had never been kissed like this. Her mouth opened on his and her tongue pressed into his mouth insistently, as if meaning to stake its claim. Perhaps it was. He kissed her back with all the hunger of the man who had been starving for her for the past three years, definitely intending to stake a claim. Their lips twisted and tongues danced in the culmination of years of desire, need, and passion...one kiss that threatened to catch everything around them on fire. 

Clint turned them around and backed awkwardly, sitting on the couch, still kissing her, her legs and arms still wrapped around him. He pulled his mouth away and grinned, "my hands need a little freedom." She may have smiled, he didn't know - he ducked his head, pressing his lips where her neck met her chin nipping and suckling her there. Natasha whimpered a little at his touch and rotated her hips on his lap, grinding herself on him, feeling him growing even harder where she was getting wetter. With every press of her body against his erection he moaned a little against her neck, causing her to rotate and grind her hips more. 

Clint's hands took advantage of the freedom they'd been granted: one hand slid under her shirt and up her back while the other rubbed large ellipses on her thigh, digging his fingertips in just a little when he pulled back as if to pull her even closer to him. Natasha acquiesced, bringing her hips down against his as close as she could until he was gripping double handfuls of her ass, pulling her hard against him one time before going back to tracing her leg. She leaned her head back to give him easier access to her neck and moaned softly as he trailed soft, slow little kisses down to the collar of the tshirt. 

He brought his hand up from her leg and ran his fingertip along the worn cotton. "You're going to have to wear this more often. I like seeing you in my shirt."

She lowered her head and caught his earlobe between her teeth. "More than you like seeing me out of your shirt?" 

"Well, let's see about that." He put his hand on her cheek, pulling her face out away from his neck so he could look at her. "My God, Tasha. You are so beautiful." Clint brought her face down to him, sweeping her mouth with his tongue. Her fingers laced into the back of his hair, holding his face to hers and his arm tightened around her back, as if each were willing the other to stay with them. Neither of them had any thought of leaving.

Natasha let go of his hair and broke the kiss, leaning back a bit. Clint was confused until he saw what she was doing. "I want to touch you," she said simply, working on his buttons. He laughed and she leaned back over to kiss him while her hands stayed busy. Clint's hands skated up her thighs to her tshirt, and he broke the kiss momentarily to whip it off of her. She had apparently foregone her bra, and he took in the sight of her, absolutely stunned. He had seen her nude a handful of times, but never up close and never for him. Now, though, she was in his lap. Straddling his lap. Naked, pressing her perfect breasts into her face. _Sweet Bleeding Christ._

"Natasha."

"Hmm?" She was still working on his buttons. Clint grabbed her hands and pulled them together in front of him to still them and get her attention. It served the double purpose of keeping his hands occupied until he could get the answer he needed.

"Are you sure this is what you want? Do you -"

Natasha leaned over, cupped his face and kissed him quiet. "I've wanted you since Jamaica. Maybe longer. But I want you." She kissed him again before he could make any reply.

He growled low, pushed her hands that were back to working on his buttons out of the way and bent to take one nipple in his mouth, his right hand going up to squeeze and tweak her other breast and his left arm pulling as close to him as he could get her.

Natasha let out a sound somewhere between a moan and a squeak and arched her back, rolling her hips against the hardness she felt pressing against her thigh, straining to get inside her. She ran her hands all over his shoulders, his neck and in his hair, relishing the fact that she could touch him at her will, dying to touch him everywhere, praying he wouldn’t stop. She spread her legs wider and mimicked the act they both wanted, spurred on by Clint's licking and sucking, and he groaned around her nipple. She didn't know whether it was from her grinding or his suckling of her, and she didn't care. 

His hands roamed her, his mouth leaving her breast to lick and kiss his way back to her mouth, claiming it finally while clutching her to him, as tightly and desperately as she had clung to him. She whimpered, and he pulled back instantly. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"

She kissed him, rolling her hips, making him groan and dig his fingers into her hips. "I'm fine. Except..." She rolled and in one fluid motion, she was on her back on the couch, Clint between her legs. "I like this better." 

He chuckled as she wound one leg around his. She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him close and caresses his lips with hers, opening to him above and below, their tongues passing and re-passing each other in a mad fiery buildup to a crescendo they were both dying for and desperate to put off. They ground into each other, moaning and sighing, working up a delicious friction until they were both panting and a little frenzied. Natasha went back to work on his buttons, confident that he wouldn't stop her this time. One hand was busy being attached to the elbow that was propping him up, and the other was lightly - so, so lightly - running up and down the back of her thigh. Every time it got close to her ass she arched away from it, grinding against him, causing him to draw a shuddering breath. 

Natasha gave up trying to be nice and ripped his shirt open, sending the last few buttons flying.

"Hey, I just bought that."

"It was in my way."

He smirked and kissed her deeply, moving his hand to slip into her panties to touch her, the very core of her. She was wet, so fucking slick, and she gasped as he slipped one finger in and sought out her clit with his thumb. When he found it, she cried out against his mouth and bucked against his hand. He put in another finger and moved his mouth to her neck: he wanted to hear her when she came apart. Clint dared to hope she'd call his name in that moment.

For now, though, she was all moans and whimpers, occasionally pleading with him for more, for him to please never stop. He whispered a mix of sweet nothings and filthy talk against her neck and ear, telling her what he was going to do to her while nipping her neck and sucking on her earlobe while he fucked her with his fingers in her and rubbed circles on her clit. She gave up on English and cried out in Russian, words he hoped were declarations of pleasure. Clint figured if she was that mindless, it was time to go in for the kill. He tightened the circle the pad of his thumb and bent his fingers inside her. 

Natasha cried out, arching and bucking, shuddering and exclaiming, begging and swearing, clutching and grasping at him. He watched her, sucking hard on her nipple, taking her as far as she could go before he let her come down. She lay there, breathing heavily and looking at him under lidded eyes, thoroughly sated. He gave her a cocky grin, then climbed off of her. 

She sat up quickly, confused. "Clint? What are you -"

"Shhhh." He bent over and kissed her, scooping her up into his arms bridal-style and carried her away from the couch. "Not here. Not on the couch. You deserve better than that." He stopped, claiming her mouth again, exploring her mouth with his tongue and clutching her to him tightly like he simply couldn't help himself. After a moment, he broke the kiss, panting slightly, and put his forehead to hers. "You deserve penthouse suites and silk sheets and champagne, but, dammit, I can't wait another fucking minute.”

~*~

Clint laid her in the center of his bed with great care like she were a precious thing, shrugging out of his ruined shirt hurriedly and trying not to break their kiss. It was a futile endeavor and he made the sacrifice to stand up quickly, pulling off his shoes, socks and pants. Natasha watched hungrily as more of him was revealed, impatient to see all of him. She slid over to the side of the bed, slipping her fingers in the waistband of her boxers. 

Clint brought up his hands to stop her. "Don't. Please."

"What?"

"Please don't."

"Why?"

He put his mouth to hers, chasing her back up the bed with kisses and easing her down. He came down beside her, one hand rubbing all over her, his palm and fingers taking in the satin of her skin. He pressed his lips to her occasionally, watching her body react to his touch and his kiss. Natasha watched him as he did this, bemused and aroused, until it occurred to her what he was doing. He was worshipful in his touch of her. He was _cherishing_ her. 

After a while, Clint spoke. "I've wanted this night for so long, Nat. So very long. Later, if you want to, we can do anything you want. I'll fulfill every fantasy you've ever had, I swear it. We'll play by your rules. But tonight...tonight I just need to be as close to you as humanly possible. Please, Natasha." His voice cracked. "Please let me make love to you." He kissed her bare shoulder, then took her hand in his and kissed her fingers. "Please, sweetheart."

Natasha was stunned into silence. Clint had bowed his head until his forehead was touching her cheek. She felt her eyes prickling.

"Clint?"

He looked up, blue eyes spearing the green. Hope, passion, desire, longing, need, and other emotions left unspoken swirled between the two of them, and in that moment they communicated everything that ever needed to be said from blue to green and from green to blue.

“Please make love to me, Clint." 

He attacked her mouth, kissing her almost violently,  putting one hand just behind her ear to hold her there as she wrapped her arms around his torso for the same purpose. 

She realized she was still in her panties and started wriggling to get them off. Clint saw what she was about and yanked them off unceremoniously, then rolled back on top of her. "I can't believe this is real. I can't believe you're real." 

"I can't believe it either." She raised one leg, wrapping her thigh around his waist, positioning his cock right where she wanted it. She undulated her hips and his cock parted the lips of her pussy, hitting her clit perfectly, and they both moaned at the contact. Natasha kept grinding herself against him, feeling the friction, hearing his breath quicken against her shoulder.

"God, Clint, I want you. Please."

He groaned against her neck, rolling his hips against hers before he froze. "Shit. Wait."

Natasha was nonplussed. "What?"

Clint was reaching across her to his bedside table. "Condom."

She pulled him back. "Don't need it." 

"No?" She shook her head. "It's just as well. Damned things are probably dust by now anyway."

She giggled a second, but was cut off by his mouth on hers. She wrapped one leg lazily around his upper thigh in a silent invitation, and was delighted when she realized their bodies had shifted and this lined them up perfectly again. She slipped her arms around his back and rolled her hips forward at the same time he did, felt his shaft pressing for entrance. His mouth was against hers, her name on his lips. Natasha raised her hips and he pressed forward, sank a little deeper. Natasha gasped: she hadn’t expected him to be so big, for it to be such a tight fit. He pressed forward again, burying his cock deeper into her warmth, and she moaned. 

Clint stopped, fighting all of his instincts that were screaming at him to bury himself as deep as possible and never let this woman go. "Are you okay?" 

Natasha bucked her hips against him, trying to pull him deeper into her slick heat. "Please, Clint. I need you."

"God, yes." He plundered her mouth as he pulled out a little and sank even deeper. She gasped Into his mouth when he bottomed out, then moaned his name. 

"Christ, Nat, you feel so fucking good. I can't..." He drew a ragged breath and thrust again. 

She spread her legs wider, silently pleading for more. He leaned down on his elbows, lying his forearms down by her sides and gripping her shoulders from behind, giving himself the leverage to pull her down onto him. Clint buried his face in her neck biting, reveling in how she cried out his name and begged him, his thrusts rhythmic now. Natasha began to whimper as he got faster and deeper. "Clint, please..." She had no idea, only that she wanted - needed - something, and only he could give it. She clung to him desperately, hanging on to his back and clenching around him as he rocked her, sure she was going to leave nail marks, not caring at the moment. It was his fault for making her this hot. She felt sure that she was going to explode at any given moment. She felt as if someone were holding a match to all of her nerve endings, and they were lit like a fuse on a stick of dynamite. The only question was when she was going to blow, and was she going to be able to stand it. She wasn't sure she was going to survive how Clint was making her feel, but at the same time, she had never felt more alive.

Clint was clinging on to control for dear life. He wasn't going to go over the edge without her, but if she kept making those mewling sounds there just might not be any help for it. He was close, and he needed her to come. He slipped his hand between the two of them, and she exploded in a firestorm of pleading, Russian he didn't understand, clawing at his ass and back, and his name, over and over again. Clint. Clint. _Clint._

When she called out his name, he whispered her name in turn - a benediction on his lips - then let go and surrendered the last battle of the war. He was a defeated man, and couldn't be more pleased about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things.
> 
> 1) I really struggled with whether or not to put "smut" into this story. First of all, it's not something I usually write, so it was fairly uncomfortable for me.I knew the story called for at least one love scene and probably more. So I sat down, intending to write a really quick little scene, and damn if it didn't turn out to be the longest chapter yet. *sigh* 
> 
> 2) In my actual, real life, I am a gigantic wiseass. It took a great deal of restraint not to tack lyrics from "The Bad Touch" up in the chapter notes at the top. I just wanted you all to know that. You're welcome or I apologize, you choose.


	8. Separation Anxiety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Natasha's work romance is discovered and they are sent on separate assignments, forcing them to look at their relationship more closely.

March 2010

Clint rolled over, pressing his face into the cool pillow and throwing his arm out to pull Natasha to him, but she wasn't there. Raising his head off the pillow, he looked around with one bleary eye. The smell of bacon frying hit him and he lay his head back down, smiling and soaking it all in: the smell of the bacon, the softness of the bed, her lingering scent, the fact that he was waking up in her bed - and that it was a regular occurrence. _Damn, Barton, you lucky bastard. You’ve struck some kind of gold here._

Four months. Four months of togetherness with Natasha. He had no idea what they were called - partners? Lovers? Boyfriend/girlfriend? None of it seemed accurate. He supposed “partners” still fit, although it took on a whole new meaning now. They were a couple, and it didn’t need a damned name. She was his and he was hers and fuck all that extraneous labeling bullshit. 

Only Coulson knew - or at least knew for sure. They’d both had open access to each other’s apartments for a few years and they both kept odd hours (all agents do), so it wasn’t unusual for their coworkers to see Natasha leaving Clint’s apartment at any time, or vice versa. No one seemed to think anything of it, or if they did they hadn’t remarked on it. As far as anyone but Coulson knew, they were partners in the field and best friends off duty. That's all anyone needed to know. 

Within the first twenty-four hours of consummating their relationship, they’d agreed to keep their professional and private lives as separate as possible. With both of them living in company headquarters, it was impossible to separate professional and private entirely, but they tried. And then, of course, there were the missions where they had to pose as a couple… Clint smiled. Coulson, who it seemed was a romantic underneath all those grey suits, had sent them on two “couple” assignments right after Clint got back from London and debriefed. They were both cake missions, too: surveillance on certain targets for a set amount of time. Both times for a week. Essentially, Coulson had given Clint and Natasha a paid, working honeymoon in Rome and then in Atlanta. He hadn’t known how to thank his handler. He had just said, “Thanks,” and Coulson said, “For what?” That had been the end of it.

Clint and Natasha had had the bigger issue at hand of needing to keep their work and relationship separate to make sure they weren’t compromised. Clint knew, deep down, that he was already compromised: that he loved her and that any harm that came to her would be taken personally. If she were hurt or in danger, his primary objective wouldn't be anything but her. It had been that way for a long time, and there wasn’t anything that could change that or be done about it. 

Natasha, however, refused to admit it. She insisted that in a crisis situation, she would be able to shut her emotions down and function like the spy and assassin she was trained to be - even if Clint were in danger or had been harmed. Clint knew her inside and out and saw the truth in her lie. He knew why she was telling it, he had heard all about the Red Room and the abuse she suffered there. He knew that she loved him, even though she refused to say it. He didn’t believe her bullshit about 'love is for children' for a minute, but it still hurt like hell to hear her say it. He stood down, though, and let her say what she needed to say and deny what she needed to deny to work through her thoughts and process her emotions. Her eyes told a different story, and they way she curled into him when they went to sleep, and the way her breath quickened at his touch. The truth was there. His Natasha was delicately wired: He knew this about her, and he loved this. He knew if he kept her safe and stable long enough, eventually she would open up to him. He would wait, he wasn’t going anywhere. But he couldn’t wait to hear her say those words, he really couldn’t. He was anxious to tell her, himself. 

Clint dozed lazily until he realized that if he were going to get any bacon before Natasha ate it all, he needed to get his ass out of bed and pronto. He sat up on the side of her bed, stretching to crack his back, and looked around for his pants. He grinned a little at the memory of the night before; he had always heard that certain spices in Indian food were aphrodisiacs…he was going to have to make that restaurant a more common take-out order. Without a doubt.

He walked into the kitchen shirtless, sidling up behind Natasha and snaking his arms around her waist under his hawkeyes t-shirt, kissing her in the hollow where her neck meets her shoulder. She pretended not to be affected, but Clint felt her breath change and saw her bite her lip when he kissed her neck. He gave her a little squeeze. "Good morning, sweetheart.”

"Good morning. I really hope you weren’t trying to sneak up on me. If so, you’re slipping.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Good.”

Clint chuckled. “Testy this morning, huh?” He slapped her on the butt. She whirled around with the tongs and made a halfhearted grab at him, but he was out of her reach and grinning. 

“I’ll have your ass for that, Hawkeye.”

“Promise?”

“Asshole.”

“I’m your asshole.”

She rolled her eyes and turned back around to the frying pan. “That’s gross.”

He threw his head back and laughed. “I didn’t even catch that. That’s pretty great.” He laughed a little more as he walked over to the counter beside the stove, snitched a piece of bacon, turned around and leaned against the counter, still chuckling as he chewed. “How’s about ‘I’m your dumbass’? Is that better?”

She looked over at him, amused but feigning annoyance. “I accept that. Your hair looks great, by the way.” He tried to smooth it down, a pointless endeavor. She snickered at his attempt. “You’re in a good mood. What’s going on?” 

“Nothing. I just like bacon. That, and we have a couple of days off. I thought maybe we could have some fun around town or something. Or, you know, here.” He leered at her and she snorted.

“You have a couple of days off. I’m leaving tomorrow morning for California.”

_Good mood status - 50% diminished._

“What’s in California?”

“I don’t know. You may be going too. Fury wants us in his office in two hours.”

Clint was wary. “I’m not sure I like this. Who told you you were going to California?”

“Coulson.”

“Did he mention me too? We haven’t been on a solo mission since I lost my comm in London.”

“I know. But he didn’t mention you.”

“So why does Fury want to see us?”

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t like this, Tasha.”

She stood on tiptoe and kissed his nose. “Stop worrying. It’ll be fine.”

~*~

They arrived at Director Fury’s office and waited for him to let them in. The doors slid open, Fury called out, “Barton! Romanov! In here!” and they went in to have a seat.

Coulson was standing in his customary spot, behind Fury’s desk and to the left, arms crossed in an unassuming way. Fury waited until they were seated and then got straight to the point.

“Okay, agents. I’m going to start out by saying that this meeting is a no-bullshit meeting. Don’t try to bullshit me, and things will go much more pleasantly for you. Ok?”

Clint and Natasha nodded.

“Now, I know that you two have a thing going. I’ve known it for a couple of years.”

Natasha spoke up, “Sir,…”

Fury held up a hand, “Wait. I said I’ve known it for a couple of years. I didn’t say _you’ve_ known it that whole time.” 

Clint fought back a snicker, Coulson brought up a hand to cover a quick smile. Natasha looked briefly indignant, then went back to her usual regal composure. “Yes, sir. We do have a relationship.”

“Four months, right?”

Clint spoke up, “Four months and one week, sir.” Natasha shot him a dirty look.

Fury said, “Well, see, I’ve known that. And even though it’s completely against S.H.I.E.L.D. policy and regulation, I let it go. I know both of you fairly well and Coulson knows both of you very well. I trusted him when he said that this was the best thing for both of you. And it seems that both of you have done fairly well keeping work and play separate. Until this last operation.”

Clint looked confused, Natasha looked blank. 

“See, it would seem that there was some intel that would have been valuable to know. Like that one of our own congressmen was working with Mapene to spin this money.”

Clint recovered first. “Sir, we were diligent, and we saw nothing to indicate that any US Senator or Representative -“

Fury cut in, “I know you didn’t see anything, but I don’t know that you were diligent. I told Coulson I would let you two stay together until you blew it. I don’t know that you blew it, but one way or another, something got by you. Plus, I need you for other projects. So I’m separating you two for a while. You’re back on solo missions. We’ll see if you can’t work better separately for a while.”

Natasha closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, Clint just sat there. He was outraged, hurt, a thousand feelings at once - none of which he could express.

“So here’s the deal. I’m putting you two on the Avengers Initiative, but separately. Romanov, you leave in the morning to go to California and do a detailed personality analysis on Tony Stark. You’ll be undercover, posing as someone in the legal pool - Natalie Rushman. Knowing Stark and his thing for arm candy, he’ll undoubtedly promote you quickly.” Clint groaned, Natasha took another deep breath. Fury took what he believed to be a reassuring tone. “All you’re responsible to do is watch him and assess him. You can do that from a reasonable distance.” 

Natasha seemed to gather up her courage and then, “Sir, I’m not comfortable using my body -“ 

Fury held up his hand again. “You don’t have to. You just need to be pretty enough to get in the door. You'll probably be spending most of the time with his secretary, Ms. Potts, anyway. If he gets fresh with you, you have my permission to use whatever non-lethal methods you deem necessary to get out safely. I have a feeling we’re going to be telling him who you are before the mission’s done anyway.”

Natasha closed her eyes and bowed her head a little. Clint just moved his head back and forth between the two of them, like watching a tennis match.

“Barton.”

Clint looked at him.  “You’re staying here. I need your help on a few things.”

He couldn’t say anything at that moment that made any sense. He just nodded. 

Fury looked across his desk at his two best agents and their stricken faces. “Look, I know I’m an asshole, but I’m not a monster. I’ve told Coulson that you two are not to be apart for more than ten days without seeing each other, two weeks at the outside. Ideally, you’ll go less than a week. I don’t intend for him to keep you gone on missions all the time, any more than you are now. You two are the best I’ve got, and to be honest, I needed you on these projects anyway. I would have had to separate you eventually, but I don’t mean to keep you apart for long. You work well together, you’re goddamn legends in this agency. But I need you, and you two need to clear your heads.”

Natasha gave a quiet “thank you,” Clint just nodded.

“You guys take the rest of the day. I imagine there are things you need to do. Romanov, your flight leaves at 9:00 tomorrow morning. Barton, report to me here at 9:30.” They nodded. “You’re dismissed.”

~*~

 

Natasha wouldn’t speak to him in the hall on the way back to her apartment, and she let him open the door. This worried him; she had always been very concerned about keeping up whatever appearance they had to in order to keep people off their trail as a couple, now she was acting as if it didn’t matter. 

They went inside and she walked straight to her turquoise and brown patterned couch, tossing accent pillows to the floor in frustration. She kicked off her heels and sat, pulling her knees up to her chin and ducking her head down, her hair making a curtain around her. “I knew it.”

“What did you know?”

“I knew I’d fuck this all up.”

Clint paused for a moment. He was in a delicate situation. They were both emotionally charged, but she needed comfort. He had to tread very lightly, or shit could go real bad here.

“Sweetheart, Fury was going to separate us eventually anyway. You heard him.”

“But we blew a mission.”

“We didn’t blow a mission, we missed a detail we weren’t even looking for. And it’s just as likely that he made that up to solidify his stance that we needed to be separate for a while. He is Nick Fury, for chrissakes.” 

“You think?”

“I think it’s entirely plausible.”

She raised her head, running her fingers through her hair. “I don’t like this feeling, Clint.”

 _Here comes_. “What feeling, sweetheart?”

“The feeling that I’ve made myself completely vulnerable.”

Clint sat silently. 

“You could destroy me.”

He had to remind himself of her history when he heard that to keep from being offended. He took a moment to remind himself that she was coming from a place of utter destruction at every turn, and of course that would be her first instinct: to look for impending destruction. 

“Natasha. I do not wish any sort of harm or destruction on you. I want the exact opposite for you. I want to build you up and make you stronger. It’s what I’ve been working to do since you came here four and a half years ago.”

She shook her head. “I know that. But you _could_ destroy me if you wanted to. It would be so easy. And you wouldn’t even have to try. You could even do it accidentally, you have that kind of power over me. That’s what I don’t like.”

Clint scrubbed his face, then propped himself with his elbows on his legs. “Nat. Do you understand that you hold the same power over me?”

“Yes.”

“So then we’re equals?”

“Yes.”

“Doesn’t that comfort you?”

“No.”

He hung his head and closed his eyes. _God, make this not happen. Stop her. Please. And if Nick Fury just caused me to lose the best thing that ever happened to me, I swear to you and every other holy thing I’m going to fucking kill him._

“Nat. Sweetheart.” His voice cracked almost imperceptibly. “Don’t do this.”

“I’m not doing anything. I just think there’s a lot of thinking that needs to be done while we’re apart. A lot of soul-searching.”

Clint sat up and looked at her. “Natasha, you and I both know how we feel, whether we express it or not. We know it. It’s there and its not going away. It’s scary as hell for me, too. This is a terrifying place I’m in right now. But I know what this is, I know what we are, and I’ll wait until you figure out that you know what it is and what we are, too.”

~*~

Natasha slept alone that night for the first time in four months. Well, “slept” isn’t exactly the right word. She couldn’t get comfortable without Clint’s comforting weight beside her and his heavy, rhythmic breathing. She hadn't expected to get so used to having him there in such a short time...in four months she shouldn't be so accustomed to having him beside her that she couldn't sleep, should she? But apparently she was. And her thoughts were chasing each other around like weasels fighting over a mouse. Natasha missed him already, missed him so much she physically ached. She had never loved anyone - not since her parents - so she didn’t know how it was supposed to feel, but she knew that she loved Clint and how this love felt. It was agony. It was beautiful. It was a nightmare. It was a dream. She didn't want to be anywhere near him, and she couldn’t live without him. But above anything, she couldn’t bring herself to tell him that she was madly, deeply in love with him.

He knew. She knew he knew. But she just couldn’t bring herself to verbalize it. It felt almost superstitious, like if she gave it a name it would suddenly become a Real Thing, visible to the outside world and thus vulnerable to attack from outside forces. If she kept it quiet and didn’t talk about it, nobody could harm it. It could be her little secret. She didn’t have to share it…she could just treasure her love for him and no one need know. And no one could get hurt.

Only now people did know. And Clint was hurting. She was hurting, too. So why was she still refusing to give it a name? So more people didn't find out? So more people didn’t hurt? God, what she wouldn’t give to be a normal person - someone who wasn’t so fucking broken. 

She laid awake, smelling Clint on her nightshirt and sheets, cuddling his pillow, sometimes crying, until she finally gave up at 4:30, put on yoga pants and went to his apartment. 

She let herself in expecting everything to be dark, but saw the living room lights and TV were on. Clint was watching Spaceballs, and had a near-empty bottle of Jim Beam on the coffee table in front of him. 

“Clint?”

“Hey.” He didn't look up.

She sat down beside him gingerly. “You okay?”

“Couldn’t sleep. You weren’t there.” She didn’t say anything, just looked down at her hands. “So I came in here to watch one of our movies and try to knock m’self out.”

“How’s that going?”

“Not so swell, actually.”

She stood up, took the glass from his hand, set it down and tugged on his hand. “Come on. Let’s go to bed.”

He stood up, just the tiniest bit unsteady, put his hands around her waist, and asked, “Tasha? Why can’t you say you love me?”

“Clint…”

“I know you love me. I just want you to say it.”

"Come on, Clint..."

"Please, Nat."

“Just come to bed, Clint. Please.”

He took several angry steps away before turning back to face her. “Goddammit, Natasha, why? Why can you feel it but not say it? Don’t you know it’s killing me? Does that matter?”

She faced him cooly. “Clint, I will tell you when I’m ready. Pushing me will not help at all. I came here because I missed you terribly and didn’t want to sleep even a couple of hours without you. Will you punish me by not holding me because I can’t verbalize something? I have to leave for California in four hours. Is this how you want to leave things, Clint? Is it? You drunk and angry and refusing me?”

He blinked at her, then sat down heavily on the couch, burying his face in his hands. “I just don’t understand, Nat. I don’t. I try to, but I can’t make sense of it.”  


She sat down beside him and put her hand on his back. “Would it be any comfort to know that I can’t make any sense of it, either?”

“Not really, but I’ll take what I can get.”

“Come to bed with me, Clint.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m going to be gone in a few hours, and I want to be as close to you as humanly possible until the last possible second.”


	9. Scouting Stark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha scouts Tony Stark as a possible candidate for the Avengers Initiative, but is missing Clint. She gets a pleasant surprise, and some unsettling news.

_NAT (3/25/10 2:12pm)_ \- Made it to Cali. Miss you already.

 _CLINT (3/25/10 2:18pm)_ \- Miss you too. When do you start? Tomorrow?

 _NAT (3/25/10 2:20pm)_ \- Yeah. I have a meeting with his secretary-turned-CEO at 10.

 _CLINT (3/25/10 2:23pm)_ \- That’s a hell of a promotion.

 _NAT (3/25/10 4:24pm)_ \- It is. Intel suggests Stark is ill and stepping down because of it. 

_CLINT (3/25/10 5:35pm)_ \- Is that part of your assignment?

 _NAT (3/25/10 7:28pm)_ \- Not yet. But God knows what will happen if I miss another detail. The last time was most unpleasant.

 _CLINT (3/25/10 9:39pm)_ \- I know. I miss you so goddamn much

 _NAT (3/25/10 11:41pm)_ \- I miss you too. Goodnight.

 _CLINT (3/25/10 11:42pm)_ \- Sleep sweet.  
~*~

 

 _NAT (3/26/10 4:12pm)_ \- Stark is a pig.

 _CLINT (3/26/10 4:13pm)_ \- Is that going in the official personality assessment?

 _NAT (3/26/10 4:15pm)_ \- yes. and I just might phrase it that way.

 _NAT (3/26/10 4:15pm)_ \- or “Tony Stark is a douche.”

 _CLINT (3/26/10 4:32pm)_ \- Damn, Nat. That bad?

 _NAT (3/26/10 5:01pm)_ \- Probably not. I’m just irritable. But he is a prick. He was in the boxing ring with his bodyguard when I got there  & the bodyguard taunted me a little. So I got in there and did what I do. Felt good. 

_CLINT (3/26/10 5:09pm)_ \- That’s my girl.

 _NAT (3/26/10 5:11pm)_ \- as I’m leaving, Stark goes “I want one.”

 _CLINT (3/26/10 5:12pm)_ \- I’ll kill him.

 _NAT (3/26/10 5:14pm)_ \- no you won’t.

 _CLINT (3/26/10 5:15pm)_ \- why not? 

_NAT (3/26/10 5:16pm)_ \- because I said so

 _CLINT (3/26/10 5:38pm)_ \- dammit. I hate when you do that, you know.

 _NAT (3/26/10 5:41pm)_ \- Do what?

 _CLINT (3/26/10 5:53pm)_ \- bow-block me.

 _NAT (3/26/10 6:21pm)_ \- Ha! That was funny, Clint

 _CLINT (3/26/10 6:49pm)_ \- I have my moments. I’m glad you laughed, I miss hearing it though

 _NAT (3/26/10 7:02pm)_ \- I know. Fury promised no more than two weeks. We can do it.

 _CLINT (3/26/10 7:03pm)_ \- God I hope so. Seems like forever.

~*~

 _CLINT (3/28/10 9:14am)_ \- I heard you’re going to Monaco

 _NAT (3/28/10 9:16am)_ \- what the hell? I just heard about it forty-five minutes ago? 

_CLINT (3/28/10 9:17am)_ \- Coulson told me as soon as he knew, which was apparently as soon as you knew. 

_NAT (3/28/10 9:19am)_ \- I found out and immediately had to book transport and start packing. I haven’t had a moment to tell you, I’m sorry. 

_CLINT (3/28/10 9:21am)_ \- Nat, it’s fine. Really. If I weren’t balls-deep in work, I’d fly over and meet you.

 _NAT (3/28/10 9:24am)_ \- It would be like Rome. God, that would be nice.

 _CLINT (3/28/10 9:25am)_ \- It would. But Fury has me busy. How much have you been told about this Avengers Initiative?

 _NAT (3/28/10 9:26am)_ \- Some. I doubt I got the whole story. 

_CLINT (3/28/10 9:28am)_ \- It’s level seven, so you have full clearance. I’ll tell you when I see you, or Fury can tell you when he comes.

 _NAT (3/28/10 9:29am)_ \- Fury is coming?

 _CLINT (3/28/10 9:30am)_ \- At some point

 _NAT (3/28/10 9:31am)_ \- Can you come with him?

 _CLINT (3/28/10 9:32am)_ \- I’m going to try my best, sweetheart. he’s not getting my best right now, I’m distracted as hell and I think he knows it.

 _NAT (3/28/10 9:34am)_ \- I am too, but I really am trying. Shield cutting me loose would be dangerous for me.

 _CLINT (3/28/10 9:37am)_ \- I know, sweetheart. I’m trying too  

 _NAT (3/28/10 9:43am)_ \- I’ll call you when I get to Monaco. 

_CLINT (3/28/10 9:45am)_ \- please do. I kind of need to hear your voice.

 _NAT (3/28/10 9:49am)_ \- Me too

 _CLINT (3/28/10 9:51am)_ \- Take care of yourself

 _NAT (3/28/10 9:52am)_ \- I always do

~*~

 _CLINT (4/1/10 5:39pm)_ \- Natasha, are you okay? You’re not answering your phone, I’m worried

 _CLINT (4/1/10 5:41pm)_ \- Natasha?

 _NAT (4/1/10 5:43pm)_ \- I’m fine 

_CLINT (4/1/10 5:44pm)_ \- Jesus Christ, what did that guy have on his arms? 

_NAT (4/1/10 5:47pm)_ \- I don’t know, it’s not technology I’m familiar with. he’s russian, but I can’t get in to question him without blowing my cover. I’ve never seen anything like that weapon, though, and I’ve seen some weird shit

 _CLINT (4/1/10 5:49pm)_ \- I haven’t either. I knew you were with Stark and saw him and his entourage being attacked, then couldn’t get you on the phone after…I’m just glad you're okay 

_NAT (4/1/10 6:08pm)_ \- I’m fine, but things are crazy here. I’ll call you in a bit. I miss you, this would be easier with you here. Talk soon

~*~

 

 _CLINT (4/3/10 3:26pm)_ \- Fury’s packing to come out. He said he got your call about Stark’s self destructive spiral. 

_NAT (4/3/10 3:28pm)_ \- You’re not coming with him? 

_CLINT (4/3/10 3:30pm)_ \- Doesn’t look good, sweetheart.

 _NAT (4/3/10 3:32pm)_ \- Goddammit! he promised! and it’s been 7 days

 _CLINT (4/3/10 3:34pm)_ \- I know. maybe he’s thinking it won’t be much longer. 

_NAT (4/3/10 3:35pm)_ \- Fucking hell.

 _CLINT (4/3/10 3:36pm)_ \- you're starting to sound like me 

_NAT (4/310 3:39pm)_ \- when’s his ETA? 

_CLINT (4/3/10 3:42pm)_ \- about eleven, your time. 

_NAT (4/3/10 3:43pm)_ \- fine. 

_CLINT (4/3/10 3:59pm)_ \- I miss you, Nat 

_NAT (4/3/10 4:02pm)_ \- I miss you too. I wish Fury hadn’t lied. It’s going to be tough getting through this debriefing. 

_CLINT (4/3/10 4:02pm)_ \- don’t do anything stupid

 _NAT (4/3/10 4:03pm)_ \- I won’t, but it doesn’t mean I won’t be fantasizing about it. 

_CLINT (4/3/10 4:05pm)_ \- fantasize about something else. something way more fun.

NAT (4/3/10 4:06pm) - Oh, I do. But not with Fury in the room -

 _CLINT (4/3/10 4:09pm)_ \- I gotta go for a bit. Talk soon. Miss you.

 _NAT (4/3/10 4:13pm)_ \- Haha, that’s great timing. Miss you too. 

~*~

 _NAT(4/4/10 12:21am PST)_ \- I’m headed back to my house and to bed. Debriefing took forever. goodnight

 _CLINT (4/4/10 12:22am)_ \- ok. goodnight

Natasha got to her door with her sling backs hooked through her fingers, too tired to care about being barefoot on the sidewalk. God knows she’d walked on worse terrain than this barefoot. She put her key in the lock and opened the door, flipping the light on. She froze, her hand instinctively going to the .22 hidden on her hip. 

There were rose petals on her floor. Lots of rose petals. She drew her weapon and kept it beside her leg, letting the door close behind her before she heard a voice from the living room, her favorite sound in the world. “You don’t need a pistol, sweetheart. I mean, I did lie to you, but it was only to maintain the surprise.” 

She squealed and ran into the living room, throwing herself into Clint’s arms. He kissed her, pulling her flush against him, bending her backwards a little in his vigor. She tugged his shirt out of his jeans and over his head, and he laughed into her mouth. “Eager, aren’t we?” 

She threw it to the side and said “shut up” and he laughed before she pulled his mouth down to her, kissing him wildly. Clint unzipped her skirt, letting it drop to the ground and replacing it with his kneading hands on her ass. She put her hands between them to unbutton him and stuck her hand down the front of his jeans, finding his cock and stroking him boldly. He moaned and finally broke the kiss. 

“Bed. Now.”

“Second door on the left.”

He lifted her ass and picked her up easily. She complied by wrapping her legs around his waist and nibbling at his earlobe, coaxing another groan out of him. “You’re killing me, Nat.” She grinned against his neck, nipping at him lightly, licking and suckling her way back to his mouth. Before she made it, she was dumped unceremoniously onto her bed and he was lowering himself to her. She raised herself on one elbow to put one hand behind his head, stroking his hair and lower his mouth to hers, her tongue exploring and teasing. He pulled away to jerk her shirt off, throwing it over his shoulder. Natasha watched it land on her TV and looked back at him as he raised the the rest of the way to an upright position until he was standing on his knees so he could finish the work Natasha had started and take off his jeans.

Natasha sat up and pushed his hands out of the way, unzipping him and then slowly, so slowly, sliding his jeans and boxers down until his cock sprang out, right towards her face, erect. She wrapped one hand around it, stroking gently and with agonizing slowness. She looked up at him, giving him a seductive half smile. “Now, what should I do with this?” She continued to stroke him and leaned forward to lick the tip, where a drip of his juice had formed, tasting him. She licked him boldly, looking up at him to see his reaction. He grasped her shoulder and let out a sound like a whimper.

She took him into her mouth and sucked once, twice. Clint drew a shuddering breath. “Jesus, Natasha. You are going to kill me.”

“Well, I certainly don’t want you to _die_ …” and she took as much of him as she could into her mouth, stroking the rest, bobbing and sucking, moaning around him. Clint leaned his head back and groaned, grabbing fistfuls of her hair and grinding into her face. She sucked harder and he moaned louder, thrusting a little harder into her mouth. She put one hand onto his hip, digging her nails into his ass to spur him on and his hands in her hair tightened. 

“Jesus, _fuck_ , Tasha…”

She licked, rolled, sucked and kissed him, then pulled her mouth off to stroke him as she licked up and down the shaft, looking up at him, watching his face. He wasn’t looking at her - his eyes were closed and his head was leaned back, fighting for control. She put her mouth back on him and did it again. He groaned and called her name. _Natasha._ She pulled him out and trailed kisses up and down his shaft while stroking him, swirling her tongue around the tip. When he moaned pitifully, she smiled and took him back into her mouth, deep, sucking and moaning, letting the vibrations of her voice resonate around his dick. He groaned and looked down to watch her, their eyes locking. He stroked her cheek with his thumb and she pulled her mouth off again. "Do you like it?"

“ _Damn_ , Natasha. Christ, ah God…..” 

She removed the hand that had been stroking him and put it to work rubbing and rolling his balls gently, opening her throat to take even more of him, provoking a loud moan from him. 

“Fuck, Tasha, I’m going to come…” His hands tightened in her hair almost painfully. He gave one more thrust and came, shuddering as her mouth and throat swallowed around him and took his seed.

He collapsed on the bed, breathing heavily with his jeans around his knees. Natasha pulled his jeans off, placing little kisses on him in random places and giggling when he jumped. She pulled the comforter over them, curled into the crook of his arm, snuggled close, kissed his cheek and rubbed her fingers in little circles across his chest. 

After his heart rate returned to a normal range and he had caught his breath: “That’s not how I had intended for this night to go.” 

“I know. But I really missed you.”

“God, I missed you. But not because of that.”

“I know, Clint. Will you do me a favor?”

“Anything, sweetheart.”

“Will you hold me tonight so I can sleep? I haven’t slept in eight nights.”

He kissed her hair. “I’ll get right on that.”

~*~

She woke up to the sounds of pans rattling in her kitchen and dove for her gun before she remembered: Clint. She smiled - his jeans were still tossed over the back of her chair. Natasha went to the bathroom and did a quick toilette…even after almost five years as partners and four months waking up next to each other, she didn’t like to face him without her hair and teeth brushed. She may be tough as hell, but, dammit, she was still a girl.

She walked into the kitchen tying her robe and found him digging the egg carton out of the fridge. “Hey, sweetheart, good morning.” He kissed her quickly. “I was going to make you bacon and eggs, but you don’t seem to have any bacon.”

“Good morning to you. And no, I only keep it around for you.”

“Huh, I didn’t know that. Well, yogurt and eggs it is.” He smiled and kissed her again, then went back to making the eggs. “I was going to bring them to you in bed, but you woke up too early.”

“Yeah, you rattled some pans. Clumsy ass.” She grinned.

“Shit. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s more time with you.” He smiled. “How long are you here?”

“Only until Fury says it’s time to go. Probably this afternoon. I may not get to see you again before we ship out.”

“Oh.” She tried to hide her disappointment, it was futile - he simply knew her too well.

“On the other hand, Fury says he doesn’t think you’ll be out here much longer. Shouldn’t be more than another week.”

“That’s good.”

“How’s it going with Stark?”

“He’s still an ass, but he’s leaving me alone. I’ve gotten a couple of looks, but he’s too self-obsessed. Plus, he won’t admit it, but he’s got a thing for the secretary/CEO. That’ll happen soon, I think.”

“Ah, workplace romances.” She rolled her eyes at him. “So, overall, is he cut out for the Avengers? To work with people like you and me?” He looked up at her from under his brows to check her reaction, stirring the eggs nonchalantly.

She paused. “What do you mean ‘people like you and me’?”

Clint said, “I have no confirmation of this, just a hunch. But I suspect that in this hypothetical team that Fury and Coulson are building, you and I are the first two members. They want Iron Man, so you’re out here to assess his personality and compatibility.”

She sat for a moment, contemplating. “The Avengers are supposed to be heroes, right?”

He poured the eggs into the hot pan. “Indeed.”

“That disqualifies me immediately.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

He put the spatula down and came around the counter to put his hands on her arms. “Natasha Romanov, my sweet, listen to me. You are not your past. You are not what you were made to be. You are not the same woman I brought to S.H.I.E.L.D. all those years ago. You are what you made yourself to be. You are what you _want_ to be. If you want to fight evil, you are a hero, and you have been fighting evil for half a decade. You are not an evil person. You are a hero.”

She turned away. “What’s been written in the ledger of my life cannot be erased, and it's been written in blood. There’s a lot of red in my ledger.”

“But there’s just as much black there, too, scratching out the red. This is an opportunity to put more black in, if you’re not convinced there’s enough to balance everything out.” She shook her head doubtfully, and he kissed her forehead. “Just think about it. You have time.”

“You’re burning the eggs.”

“Shit.” He ran back around the counter, grabbing the spatula and stirring quickly.

She thought for a moment. “Why do Coulson and Fury want us?”

“Because we’re the absolute best of the best. You are the best spy in the world and one of the best assassins. I’m the best marksman in the world. If you’re building a team of exceptional people to defend justice, you want people with skills like us, and you want the best.”

She nodded and looked away. 

“Hey, Nat. We’ve got time. This may not happen at all. It’s just in the embryonic, planning stage. Try not to worry over it too much, okay. Just concentrate on Stark and his ability to play well with others. Ok?”

She smiled at him, trying to hide her thoughts and failing miserably. “Okay.” 

“Eggs and yogurt?”

“Sounds great.”


	10. Lies and Speculation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People are speculating about the true nature of Clint and Natasha's partnership, and spreading gossip when they can't figure out the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I ever lied to you?  
> Right now, what I speak is true  
> I saw them whispering  
> Shaking their head like they know  
> But it ain't black and white  
> I wish they'd leave us alone  
> They've got nothing else to do  
> But look at our lives...  
> Ain't no small town to please  
> There's only you and me  
> Our love is not their business  
> ~"Our Love Is Not Their Business" -Andy Davis

Clint and Natasha did not hold titles more superior than any other agents at S.H.I.E.L.D. They held a high level clearance, but that technically did not make them superiors or authority figures. However, it was widely known and accepted as fact that they held positions of authority amongst their peers. Both were very successful field agents and when you scored any and all aptitude or skill test S.H.I.E.L.D. offered, either Clint or Natasha was at the top. Besides that, both Clint and Natasha had the director and Coulson call on them personally and frequently to handle delicate situations or oversee projects, despite being just a 'regular' agent. Their reputations as master assassins were legendary, not only in the agency but in the entire intelligence community. So it was unspoken but accepted that while they held the same title as everyone else, they held more clout. 

But, without fail, in every inducted class, there would be one or two men who thought they could have a good time with Natasha. They felt that since they had just landed a job as agents for the most powerful security and intelligence agency in the world, and here was this breathtakingly beautiful woman, that surely she must have slept her way into the position. Or that she was only there as a sexy decoy...or worst of all, as a plaything for agents. Most of the time, these men had no idea who she was at first because they had only ever heard whispers of the Black Widow; they'd certainly never seen her. There were lots of female agents, and quite a lot of them had dark hair and eyes. Nobody really expected the Black Widow to be a redhead. So when they finally did see her, she was just another pretty face they could dismiss as inferior in strength and ability.

Natasha generally assumed that this was the case and coldly corrected the assholes, sometimes with a little force if they got handsy. She rarely told them who she actually was - let someone else embarrass them with that knowledge later - but she'd do her part for feminism and take the pricks who belittled her (and female agents in general) as inferior down a few pegs. She always hoped they learned their lesson; but deep down she knew that they didn't. So few people actually learned from their mistakes. 

Clint had gone to New Mexico in a hurry with Coulson to help monitor some satellite that had fallen out of the sky but no one could get off the ground. Natasha was intrigued and wished she could have gone along, but she was here with Fury, researching an old super soldier from the 40's. Plane wreckage had been spotted in Norway, and Fury believed it may contain the body of Captain America, the first superhero. Natasha was to familiarize herself with him. Not a strenuous task, but she was finding it interesting. The story of World War II was very different when told from an American perspective instead of the Russian point of view she had studied as a child. It was interesting to her how the basic facts were the same: dates, generals, casualties, and even the battle strategies, but the way they were spun and explained made it very, very different. The differences were usually incredibly subtle, but effective. As an interrogator, she was impressed and took mental notes. The story of Captain America himself was interesting; he had also been enhanced, although his enhancements and the changes to his body had been much more dramatic than hers. Very few people knew about hers, the world knew about his. He also seemed to be quite the hero, fighting for good wherever he went. She wondered if the reports she was reading could possibly be entirely accurate, or if they were skewed by the admiration of an excited fanboy. All in all, it was a fascinating assignment, but she wasn't overly thrilled with having a desk job and worried about her skill set that she so highly prized atrophying. So she spent every spare moment Clint was gone working out.

On the fifth day Clint was gone, Natasha was in the sparring gym working out alone when two freshly minted agents came in. She was busy practicing some acrobatic kicks with the dummy, but looked them over, assessing them and their threat potential out of habit. She recognized their faces and knew them as White and Wilcox, but didn't know much about them. They had a swagger, though, that Natasha never associated with good things.

Both of them were dressed in civilian clothes, as if they were just coming in from being on duty. They went to the locker rooms, looking around to see who was in there and what equipment was available for use. They spotted her from across the gym near the entrance to the men's locker rooms, and one of them - the one she knew as Wilcox - smiled unpleasantly. She felt her shoulders tighten, but made no move that she had noticed them. Wilcox said something out of earshot to White, they smiled at each other and then both leered at her. She punched the dummy again and landed a roundhouse kick, hoping it would be a deterrent. Wilcox’s eyes widened a bit and they dropped their bags, starting across the gym, smiling in a predatory way. 

”Well, well. Lookie what we have here. If it isn't the Black Widow."

Natasha kept punching and kicking, ignoring them. They weren’t close enough to attack, and really hadn’t said anything to provoke an attack anyway. They were agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. after all, and she’d better have a damned good reason before she kicked one or both of their asses.

“What are you doing down here, sweetheart? Shouldn’t you be doing pilates or something?” Wilcox snickered at White's shitty joke.

She didn’t miss a beat. “I don’t do pilates, and don’t call me sweetheart.”

“Oh, come on, pretty little thing like you. Surely you need someone to treat you nice and call you sweet names?” White leered at her, Wilcox just stood behind, watching with a stupid but malicious smile on his face.

Natasha was still punishing the dummy. “I don’t need shit from a dick like you. Fuck off.”

“Well now, that’s not nice. Especially coming from you. I heard they’d started putting you in as a pussy plant just to get intel because you couldn’t pull the trigger anymore. You got soft.”

Maria Hill stepped back behind the door to listen as Natasha landed a particularly hard right hook to the dummy.

"Whoo, there, look at that!," White exclaimed in mock admiration, turning to Wilcox. "This little girl can throw a punch." He turned back to Natasha and tipped his chin up. "Tell me, sugar, if you're such a good fighter, why've they got you on desk duty? Is it because your go-to guy ain’t here to stick up for you?”

Natasha fought the temptation to jump on him and answered through gritted teeth. "Leave me alone. I don't want to hurt you."

Maria heard Natasha's tone and widened her stance, ready to jump in to the impending fight and intervene.

Wilcox laughed. "Damn, but you're cute when you're angry. Fiery little redhead. No wonder Barton doesn’t share you. What I wouldn't - "

He didn't get to finish. Natasha sprinted the distance between them and jumped, spreading her legs and kicking both of them in the abdomen simultaneously. She stood up and kicked Wilcox behind the head, knocking him to the ground then grabbed White's wrist, flipping him to his back and putting one foot on his throat.

"What's that you want to do to me, asshole? Think hard before you answer."

"Romanov, stand down."

Hill stepped in from around the door and Natasha stepped back immediately. "White, Wilcox, come with me. Romanov, as you were." Hill stood in the doorway glaring while Wilcox and White rolled on the floor, trying to get their wind back, Wilcox clutching his throat neck and White rubbing his wrist. At length, they stumbled out, still holding thier abdomen but following Hill obediently. Natasha waited until they were gone then took a deep breath. _Shit. Fucking assholes._ The jabs about Clint had gotten to her, but the implication didn’t escape her. People suspected. _Shit._

Hill walked the two red-faced, huffing and fuming men to Fury's office, alerting him to her impending arrival via comm on the way, led them in and closed the door. She explained to Fury: "I overheard these men taunting and sexually harassing Agent Romanov. She warned them to leave her alone and they did not. At length, she physically retaliated. I intervened and brought them in here."

Fury looked the men over. "Sexual harassment I understand, but taunting her about what?"

Hill looked slightly uncomfortable before she answered. “The shift in the manner of assignments in the field and her partnership with Agent Barton."

Fury looked back at White and Wilcox. "I see. Were her actions warranted?”

“I would have hit them a lot sooner, sir. They called her a 'pussy plant.'”

“Thank you, Agent Hill."

Hill left the room, not sparing a glance at the two men.

Fury sat quietly for a couple of minutes. "Had it been me, I would have let her beat you two mysoginistic wiseasses and have your punishment be the knowledge that the woman shamed you. But I can't do that. I also can't let you get off with no punishment, because you just committed a serious offense. Sexual harrassment is a big fucking deal, gentlemen.”

"Sir, she assaulted us!"

"She responded to your harassment after giving you a warning to stop. Romanov is one of the best agents S.H.I.E.L.D. has, with a well-deserved global reputation. It would do you well to remember that. I will speak to her about her conflict resolution techniques, but she will not be punished. You two, however, are suspended for ten days without pay and on probation for ninety days. During that ninety days you’re on desk duty. And you best hope that's all that happens to you. You're dismissed."

The two men left his office nursing their injuries, wondering what Fury had meant by that last bit. 

~*~

Clint had been sent to New Mexico to stand guard over some satellite he later discovered was a hammer. He had mixed feelings over these new assignments he was being given: on one hand, the hours were better, he didn't have anything weighing on his conscience at the end of the day (he had been surprised when he found out he still had one) and it was almost a foregone conclusion that he was going to be returning to Nat safely. On the other hand, he missed the thrill and excitement that had come along with being an assassin and spy in the field, and so many years of working alone made him not so much of a team player. He tended to go his own route and eat alone at lunch. Which was fine, he was a loner by nature, but still. The new assignments went against the grain a little. 

He knew he was being groomed for the Avengers, but he didn't know how guarding a hammer that fell in New Mexico factored in. He could get how learning to be a team player did, though, so he tried for Coulson’s sake, who really seemed invested in the Avengers Initiative. He tried to shoot the shit with the other agents, about half of whom were local to the area, about sports and women and cars and whatever the hell else regular guys who didn't usually kill for a living talked about. 

He went to the bar with them occasionally to watch them pick up women, but it just made him miss Natasha. They shoved women in his direction and he would make polite, awkward small talk. He never bought them drinks, he didn't ask them to dance and he didn’t ask them questions about themselves, he just hoped they got the message. Most of them didn't until he went silent. The guys kept sending hotter and hotter women who he was told were easy and fun, but none were Natasha. He kept shooting the women down, more and more firmly. The other guys thought he was nuts. It never occurred to any of them that he might already have a girl. He didn't tell them he did: He and Nat still had to keep work and play separate, and he'd rather not have to make up an elaborate lie about some blonde accountant. Nat would understand, but he didn't want to do that to her, not when staying silent wouldn't hurt her at all. So he just kept his mouth shut and let them think he was shy around women. He'd rather shoot pool and drink a beer or some whiskey anyway.

The New Mexico operation had been thrown up in less than a day, so even the solid buildings weren't that solid. Most were tents over scaffolding in a maze of hallways. This would have been great in the summer, but it was late winter and walls would have been nice, particularly at night in the desert. Clint was walking through one such hallway when he overheard part of a conversation that brought him up short. 

"That's what I heard, too. The Widow just went off on him."

"What did he say that tipped the scale and brought down the wrath?"

"I dunno exactly. I know he called her something like baby or sugar or sweetheart, and that pissed her off pretty bad." Clint tensed. Nat was not a big fan of pet names, and only he was allowed to call her 'sweetheart'. He could imagine that might have set her off. "But the first thing I heard was that she went batshit when he said something about being nice because of her man not being around to protect her."

"The Hawk?"

"Who else? They've been fucking for years, everybody knows."

 _Oh fuck_ , Clint thought. 

"And I tell you what, too. It hasn't done Hawkeye any favors. He's gone soft. He used to be this big bad assassin, now he's out here guarding a fucking hammer. He ain't sniping anymore...lost his balls. Gave 'em to the Widow, I suppose.”

Clint balled up his fists, fighting the urge to fly through the wall and tear him apart. There was a slit in the plastic. It would be so easy… But he was trying to be a team player. He owed it to Coulson.

“That’s how she got to the top of the heap, I’d bet. Fucked her way up the ladder. Most women do. She got with Barton, got all serious, quit putting out and they put her on desk duty. Shit, I bet that’s how she got into S.H.I.E.L.D. in the first place. It’s a shame about Barton, though. He used to be damned good.”

Clint threw open the plastic and stepped through, enjoying the look on the men's faces when they recognized him. "Hey there, fellas. I hear I'm a pussy now?"

They stammered. Clint determined by their voices which had been the shit-talker, walked over and punched him in the nose, breaking it. He spun around, elbowing the other man in the face, catching him in the mouth and busting his lip. Clint looked down at the bleeding men. "How's that for soft, fuckers?" 

Clint turned his head back and forth between the two men. “What else do you have to say, assholes? Come on. I’m real interested to hear it.” 

The man with the busted lip raised his hands, getting to his feet slowly. ”Hey, Barton, I didn't mean-"

Clint pointed a menacing finger at him. "You keep your goddamn mouth shut about my partner." He nodded. "You'd better be damned glad I'm the one who heard you two and not her."

The other man spoke up, yelling through his hands. "I'll have your fucking job for this, Hawkeye!”

Clint looked at him coldly. "You be sure and tell Coulson or Fury why you got the shit knocked out of you when you run and tattle. See how that works out for you." Clint grabbed him and picked him up by the shirtfront. "But I'm warning you. If I ever hear of you saying she fucked her way to the top or that I've gone soft again, one or the other of us will show you exactly how we actually made it to the top of the heap. Got it?"

Clint threw him to the ground and walked away. 

~*~

Clint sought out a quiet spot in the desert that night. He wanted to call Natasha and check on her after hearing she was in a fight, although he knew she would be okay. He wanted to hear her voice, although it had only two days. But more than anything, he wanted to see how she was after being talked to the way she had, and about him. He pressed her contact and her number dialed.

“Hello?”

“Hey, sweetheart.”

“Hey, you. How’s New Mexico?” 

“The desert is gorgeous. We should come out here sometime. The project is boring and interesting at the same time. Turns out the sattelite is a bigass hammer, and nobody can lift it. It’s just kind of stuck to the ground. Nothing we’ve tried has worked. It’s really odd.”

“Sounds like Mjolnir.”

“Huh?”

“Thor’s hammer? You know, Thor?”

“Thor? As in god of thunder Thor?”

“Yes. His hammer was gifted to him by his father, Odin. It was imbibed with special magic, and only he could lift it. It could control the weather, calling down rain and wind and especially thunder and lightning. It also allowed him to fly.”

Clint was impressed. “How do you know all of this stuff?”

“I like to read.”

He smiled. “Well, this one guy snuck into the compound to try to get it. He couldn’t, but it rained like hell while he was trying.”

He heard the smile in her voice. “Sounds like maybe you had a dude with a god complex on your hands.”

He chuckled. “Maybe so.”

“So what else is going on?”

He took a deep breath. “Well, I kicked the shit out of couple of guys this afternoon.”

She sighed. “How funny. I did that same thing this morning.”

“So I heard. I know this may sound like a dumb question, but, are you okay?”

“Yeah. Not happy, a little shaken, but okay. Are you?”

“The same. What happened?”

“I was working out, minding my own business. They came in talking a bunch of shit, calling me sweetheart, being sexist pigs. I told them to stop at least twice before I jumped them.” 

“What happened to them?”

“Agent Hill stepped in before I could work up a head of steam.”

"Did you get chewed for it?"

"No, she took them off and I heard they got suspended. Nothing was said to me."

“Good. Is all that they said?”

She hesitated. “Why?”

“I heard it was more than them just talking shit about you being a woman.”

“What did you hear?”

“I heard that I got thrown into the mix.”

She sat silent for a few beats. “You did.”

“How?”

“They asked me if I was pushing pencils because my man wasn’t around to protect me. Then they said something about they totally got why Barton wasn’t willing to share me.”

Clint swore.

“Why? What did you hear?”

Clint thought quickly. The absolute truth would infuriate and hurt her, more than she already was. It would also humiliate her beyond words. He wasn’t willing to do that. “The same, more or less.”

“You sure?”

 _Don’t lie to her, Clint. Don’t lie._ “There was some added speculation, but yeah.” _There. That was honest. But please don't ask anything else, Nat. Please._

She sighed. “So does everyone pretty much know we’re together?”  


“I think people speculate that we are, but nobody knows but Coulson and Fury know for sure.”

“You don't think?”

“I really don't. I think some people who are around us a whole lot speculate, but they have nothing solid to go on. Just a hunch. And it's not their business anyway. Most of the guys out here seem to have no idea I’m seeing you when we go out to the bar or shoot the shit about women. They seem to think I’m single.”

“There’s a difference in the way you talk to a guy when he’s single and when he’s with someone?” She sounded amused.

“Yes.” _Like they send easy pussy over to you at the bar and are mystified when you turn it down. But then_ , he supposed, _some guys would be mystified if a married guy turned down easy pussy, too_.

She made a little snort sound, and he knew she was rolling her eyes. God, he loved this woman.

“So when are you coming home?”

“I don’t know. I'm hoping it won’t be too long, but if it’s much longer than four days or so I’m going to take a couple of days and fly back.”

“Sounds good.”

“I gotta go, I gotta get back inside soon but I wanted to call.”

“Okay, I’m so glad you did. I miss you.”

“I miss you too, sweetheart. Talk soon.”

He hung up the phone and laid back, realizing suddenly that he hadn't looked up at the stars in many years. He picked out Jupiter and Mars, Sagittarius and both dippers. A shooting star scratched it's way across the night and he made a wish, like a child.


	11. The Avengers Assemble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint is possessed by Loki, and Natasha is compromised. The Avengers assemble for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a series of short vignettes that take place during the movie. Most of them are directly from the film - I included them because I wanted to add thought processes, emotional reactions, etc. that just don't show up in film, and that add to my head canon/fanfic. More notes at the end.

Loki grabbed him by the arm, in the first grip Clint hadn't been able to break since his childhood.

"You have heart."

Loki touched his scepter to Clint's chest and looked him in the eyes.  Clint looked back, horrified, cold radiating from the point of contact through his whole body. Clint heard a voice, not his own voice, but coming from inside him:

"Your mind is mine, now. I see your thoughts, your fears and dreams. I can help you achieve more than you ever thought possible, more than your wildest fantasies, if only you help me."

Clint struggled for control, attempting to fight down the cold that was creeping all over him. _No…I don't want to help you....you can't give me what I want…_

"Yes, I can. More than you've ever thought possible. But you must make sacrifices."

_No…_

"Oh, but they're such small sacrifices, and to your benefit. S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn't care about you, no one here ever has. That woman? She doesn't love you, Clint. You will never have her heart."

His shoulders grew cold, his neck. _You’re lying…Natasha loves me, I know she does…_

"She has never told you that she loved you, has she? Has she ever expressed any commitment to you? Don't you think she's enjoyed the opportunity to pleasure other men when she goes away for S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

His chin, teeth, nose were enveloped in the cold. _Stop it...I love her…that's enough…_

"Of course you do. But I can take the pain you're feeling away. You know it's true, Clint. A woman who loved you would never dream of touching another man, yet your woman does so. She knows of your love and ignores it like a mother ignores a child wailing for candy. Your reason for living, for being, does not care about you."

The cold climbed above his nose, enveloping his eyes. _No…please no....God no…._

“It is a terrible thing, that she's mistreated you in this way. But you can have your vengeance - upon all of them. Their blood will be your reward. You are a good man who deserves better, which I can give you. Women, power, wealth, all of it. You simply have to follow me. Leave her behind and follow me. She is nothing, S.H.I.E.L.D. is nothing…they have brought you nothing but misery…..follow me…you must leave this place and follow me…I will fulfill your desires and give you what you want most…”

The cold overtook him, and he succumbed. 

A quiet, soothing hum in his ears.

The agony subsided and his mind quieted.

Clint put his gun back in the holster and followed Loki. 

~*~

"We need you to come in." 

Natasha's heart jumped into her throat. Calls wouldn't be coming for her unless it was something major, but she betrayed nothing, falling back on years of experience. She didn't want to think about what it could be.

She sat, arms tied behind her back, chair slid to the precipice. She had watched the men surrounding her carefully, gathering the information she needed. In her seven years at S.H.I.E.L.D., no one had ever contacted her in a way that would blow her cover and end a mission. No, whatever this was was bad, really bad, and she wanted no part. Without thinking, she shut down emotionally. 

"Are you kidding? I'm working."

"This takes precedence."

"I'm in the middle of an interrogation and this moron is giving me everything. Look, you can't pull me out of this right now -"

Coulson is quiet when he delivers the blow he knows will sock her in the gut. "Natasha. Barton has been compromised."

All of the oxygen leaves her body, the world stops spinning, the life goes out of her. _”Barton has been compromised.” Oh God, no. It can't be right. No, no, no._

"Let me put you on hold."

She kicked her mark, Vladmir, head butted him when he doubled over, then stood up still strapped to the chair. She kicked Dimitri, one of the bodyguards, spinning around and knocking into Andrei the with the chair, rolling on the chair and using it as a weapon again, pounding the leg of the chair down to stamp on Dimitri’s foot and throwing her head back, head butting him. She fought the men efficiently with the chair before backflipping to break it, giving her arms the freedom she needed to perform acrobatic kicks and flips, grabbing Dimitri by the neck with her thighs and taking him down. When she had the bodyguards subdued, she went to Vladmir, wrapped his leg up in a chain, and tipped him off the precipice, leaving him dangling. 

She walked over to grab her shoes, slipped her fingers through the straps on her sling backs and picked up the phone. Her heart was pounding, but not from exertion.

"Where is Barton now?"

"We don't know."

"But he's alive?" _Please say yes. Oh God, please say yes._

"We think so. I’ll brief you on everything when you get back.”

 _Please, God please, let him be alive. Please let him be okay. Better yet, let this be a bad dream._ Because truly, Natasha felt like she had stepped into a nightmare.

~*~

 

Steve Rogers sought out Coulson in the hallway after returning from Strutgaart. He had noticed a couple of things that had left him uneasy enough to ask a superior about, and despite being uncomfortably excitable whenever he was in Steve's presence, Coulson seemed capable and knowledgable and Steve felt a measure of respect and trust for him. He found the Deputy Director in the hallway between the bridge and lab, walking briskly as usual. He looked pleased to see Steve, as he always did, and Steve braced himself to be asked for an autograph. 

"Agent Coulson? Got a minute?"

“Captain Rogers! Yes, I do, what have you got?"

Cap looked around to make sure they were alone. "Well, Agent Coulson, I was wondering about Agent Romanov."

Coulson looked momentarily surprised. ”What about her?"

"Is she compromised by this mission?"

Coulson’s eyebrows furrowed for just a moment, and then smoothed out. He said, "I don't think I'm following."

"Well, she seems to have a bit of tunnel-vision regarding one of the agents Loki took. Agent Barton. On the bridge she's been over to the, the..." Steve snapped his fingers a couple of times, trying to retrieve the word. "Computers a couple of times checking progress - but only on him. And she's mentioned that Loki "took one of ours" - but Loki took much more than just one, didn't he?"

Coulson couldn't hide that he was uncomfortable now. "He did."

"She seems fixated on this one fella. She also has an emotional reaction anytime he’s brought up. It's subtle, but it's there, and it lasts for more than a minute. I’ve watched her. She doesn’t react the same way when we’re discussing Dr. Selvig.

So I came to ask you: is she emotionally compromised by this mission? Or is she stable enough to continue?"

Coulson hesitated a moment. "Natasha Romanov is one of our two best field agents; the other being Clint Barton. They have been partners for seven years. She is very shaken by his being taken and is probably compromised to a degree, but I believe she will be suitable to help serve on this mission. I would be surprised if she didn’t have an emotional reaction to him being taken, but I trust her judgment."

Steve studied him a moment. "Agent Coulson, I trust you to know your agents and make the best call."

Coulson replied, "We're monitoring Agent Romanov, and will continue to. Thank you for keeping an eye on things.”

“That’s my job, Agent Coulson.”

~*~

 

Clint pulled out his bow and made sure to have the specialty arrow tips he needed while Loki whispered in his brain over the ever-present hum. _She doesn't love you._ He strapped his quiver on his back, his jaw set. _Nobody at S.H.I.E.L.D. has ever cared about you._ He opened the back of the plane and walked out onto the ramp. _Everything everyone told you at S.H.I.E.L.D is a lie._ He nocked the arrow, drew back and carefully took aim, allowing for wind and altitude. _She doesn't love you, she's never loved you. Everything she's ever said has been a lie._ Clint fired.

~*~

 

Natasha sat trembling and injured against a boiler. Something was hissing nearby and there was a slight ringing in her ears. She heard shouts from far away, people yelling in her ear via the communicator, and she thought she heard gunshots. Chaos surrounded her, destruction left by the Hulk, and her terror was palpable, matched only by her apathy. It didn't matter what was going on in the rest of the ship. It doesn't matter if it fell out of the sky. None of it mattered. She didn't care.

“It's Barton. He took out systems. He’s headed for the detention level. Can anybody copy?"

_Oh, God, he's here. He's here. And if anyone else goes after him, he'll be killed on sight. Oh, God, no, please. You have to stop this. Go! GO!_

"This is Agent Romanov. I copy."

She scrambled to her feet. 

~*~

 

She spotted him up ahead and leapt onto the catwalk behind him, silently. She followed for a few steps until he whirled, firing an arrow at her. She dodged, grabbing his bow and turning it, earning a kick for her efforts. She took a couple of steps back and kicked him herself before spinning around onto the catwalk below.

 _She is the master of lies._ Clint bent to look for her and she spun back up onto the upper catwalk, kicking him and knocking him backwards. He fired an arrow and she leapt over it onto the next catwalk. 

_She wishes to harm you, like she always has._ He followed and began to swing the bow at her. She grabbed it and they tugged it back and forth. He hit her in the head and slammed her against the railing. She recovered, kicked him then backhanded him and tossed the bow. They stood apart, facing each other, sizing each other up. He drew a knife. 

_She never loved you, Clint. She never will. She lies._ Clint dove at her, trying to stab her. She caught his arm and punched him in the chest, driving him back. He tried one more time, and she twisted his arm backwards. Clint cried out in pain, then slashed at her. Natasha caught his arm in front of her face, pushing the knife backwards towards him. He caught her arm and her hair yanking it back and exposing her neck, pointing the knife at her throat. Natasha looked in his eyes, the eyes she knew so well, the eyes she loved so much, and they were dead. Clouded. They were gone and belonged to someone else. He wasn’t Clint.

The humming in his ears grew more intense, and Loki was shouting in his head. _She will destroy you if you don’t kill her, Clint! She will end you! KILL HER!_

Natasha bit him. Clint yelled and drew back in pain, Natasha still holding his arm. She backflipped, using the momentum to ram his head into the railing. He groaned, falling to the ground slowly. There was no more humming. Loki was silent. 

Clint came up on his knees, raised his head unsteadily and looked at her. "Tasha?"

She looked down on him, all of the fear, love, longing, confusion, anger and desperation of the last couple of days bubbling in her. 

She punched him out.

Two junior agents came along. "Take him to the infirmary, put him on a bed, immobilize him and wait. I'll be there in five minutes. If there is a single mark on him, you'll answer to me and it won't be pretty."

~*~

"How'd you get him out?" 

Clint was still strapped to the bed. Natasha was watching him carefully for signs of Loki, but finding none. She decided to release him. A display of trust.

"Cognitive recalibration. I hit you really hard on the head." She smiled at him, a small little smile that only he ever got to see. Clint’s smile. She bent to unstrap his wrists.

"Thanks." She looked back at him and gave him his special smile again. He looked up at her from beneath his brows, and oh, God what it did to her when he did that. "Natasha, how many agents did I-"

She looked into his eyes. His blue eyes were back; forget-me-not blue now, like they always were when he was troubled. Loki was gone, she had no doubt. She had no reason to doubt. She knew her man. 

”Don’t. Don't do that to yourself, Clint. This is Loki. This is monsters and magic and nothing we were ever trained for.” She held his gaze, reassuring and searching. 

He didn’t break eye contact. “Loki. He get away?”

“Yeah. I don’t suppose you know where?”

“Didn’t need to know.” She stood up and went to the door. “Didn’t ask.” Clint sat up on the side of the bed. “He’s gonna make his play soon, though. Today.”

Natasha turned around to face him. “We gotta stop him.”

“Yeah? Who’s ‘we’?”

Natasha was agitated. “I don’t know. Whoever’s left.” 

Clint nodded and spoke haltingly. ”Well, if I put an arrow through Loki's eye socket I'd sleep better, I suppose.” He gave a mirthless little laugh.

She came to sit down close to him and smiled. "Now you sound like you."

He looked at her. ”But you don’t.” Her smile faded. “You're a spy, not a soldier. Now you want to wade into a war. Why? What did Loki do to you?"

She froze under his questioning. “He didn’t. I just…" She searched his face for a moment, then looked down at her hands. 

She had no idea what to say or how to say it. Now wasn't the time for sentimentalities, it went against her grain and her training. But it was there. Right there. She had agonized while he was in jeopardy, and he deserved to know it. He wanted to know it, he had begged her to tell him. But now wasn’t the time to tell him. Was it? 

Clint knew this woman better than anyone or anything in the world. She was struggling desperately with something, unsure of what but hoping he was right, that Loki had been wrong. He prompted her, whispering her name. “Natasha.”

"I've been compromised."

Clint ducked and then raised his head, betraying no emotion, his thoughts racing. He knew what that meant, and what that had cost her. _He knew._

"I got red in my ledger.” He looked up at her. “I’d like to wipe it out.”

~*~

The Battle of New York was over, Loki contained in a cell in the New York branch of S.H.I.E.L.D., guarded by ten agents armed with chitauri weapons and then ten more agents with chitauri weapons outside of that immediate area. The newly formed Avengers sat around a table in a schwarma restaurant in midtown, savoring their victory and some of them savoring schwarma. Not all of them were enjoying it, but they were all being good sports. 

Clint had never laid eyes on most of the guys there before that day, other than reading all of their files extensively and knowing more about them than they would probably ever believe. He hadn't been able to discern from their files, however, what they were like in person, how they interacted with each other, what their personalities were like and would be with him. There was scant knowledge on some of them, such as Thor. Some of them had defied their personality profiles, like Tony. To be honest, though, he had only been around these guys for two hours during the heat of battle and now they were all dogshit tired. All he wanted was to go home, curl around Natasha and not leave their bed for three days. Fuck Fury, fuck debriefings, fuck the press that was crowding the storefront. He wanted his woman and his bed. 

He propped his leg up comfortably behind Natasha. She shot him a quick, small smile. He took that to mean _permission granted._

The rest of the Avengers had never seen Clint either, although they had certainly heard of him. They had been surprised and distrustful of him when they first saw him on the ground in New York with only Natasha and Cap's assurances that it was okay. None of them (save Natasha) had any idea what had happened that brought him back from Loki's control yet, but after the dedication he had shown to protecting the earth and each of them, they seemed to accept that his possession by Loki was over. Bruce, who was the most intuitive among the bunch, wondered if part of the reason he had fought so bravely hadn't been Natasha. He figured that that truth would bear out soon enough. 

They all couldn't help stealing glances at Clint every now and then, however, and Clint with his impossibly sharp vision didn't miss a single look. He didn't begrudge any of them wondering about him, although it made him even more uncomfortable than he already was. He wasn't entirely sure of all the things he had done while under Loki's control and didn't want to know, but he was very sure that he deserved to be killed. If the worst he got was a few sideways looks from superheroes, he was a lucky man. 

So they ate schwarma, mostly in tired but unified silence. Thor ate with gusto, and they all were to learn soon enough that that was Thor’s way. Natasha kept her back to the door, knowing it was fruitless, that her face and Clint's had already been splashed all over the news, but not wanting to worsen the damage.

_Clint._

She had him back, and she just couldn't stop looking at him. She couldn't believe it was true. She couldn’t believe how close she had come to losing him. She couldn't wait to get him home and tell him...everything. That she had been wrong, so wrong. As soon as he had been in danger, she had been compromised and it became personal. That Loki started to creep into her head when he looked in her eyes at the detention area in the helicarrier and she had just barely escaped. If she hadn’t turned away, he may have had her. 

She couldn't wait to tell him that she loved him so, so much. 

At the same time, she was just the tiniest bit wary. Was Loki all the way gone? She believed that he was, but what about lingering effects? When she looked into Clint’s eyes, he was Clint, he wasn’t the man she had been fighting on the catwalk. Those eyes were gone, and Clint’s eyes were back. She was sure Loki was gone. But she was going to watch him carefully, just in case.

They all stood to leave after agreeing to meet in Central Park the next day to see Thor and Loki off. The Avengers, Earth’s Mightiest Heroes, stood around the dining table of the ruined schwarma joint, discussing how to get around the press and back to either Stark Tower or S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ. Clint turned to Natasha and asked, “So, what now?"

She turned her green eyes up and looked into his blue eyes steadily. "I want a shower and bed."

Clint smiled, and she smiled back.

~*~

Fury had agents waiting on her and Clint when they entered the building who escorted them straight to his office. Clint looked like a spring wound to capacity and his eyes were a little wild. She whispered to him to relax. Thor came with them, wanting to discuss Loki’s transport, and Natasha was grateful.

Fury let them in and asked Thor to wait outside. He did amiably. Thor did everything amiably.

“Agents, I just wanted to commend you on your service today.”

Clint blinked. “Thank you, sir. But I…”

Fury interrupted, “You were taken captive and brainwashed by a deity. Nobody blames you for being kidnapped, or for your actions while you were under the influence of a hostile god. You were a hero today, and your country thanks you. You and Agent Romanov are granted a leave of absence for as long as you like, up to sixty days.”

Clint and Natasha looked at each other, incredulously. Natasha spoke up. “Sir? Are we being punished?” 

“No, ma’am. You are being rewarded, in a way. You’ve both been put through a very traumatic experience and deserve some downtime. So you’re being granted time - paid vacation time - to go relax and recover from the events of the last week.”

Clint shook his head. “Sir, I…”

“Your jobs will be here waiting on you when you get back in sixty days. You may pick a location - anywhere in the world - and use a S.H.I.E.L.D. safehouse. Or you may go somewhere completely on your own, if you’d like. Either way, you will not be disturbed, unless the Avengers are needed or the safehouse is needed for a mission.”

Clint opened his mouth to speak again, and Natasha grabbed him by the hand, tugging him towards the door. “Thank you, sir.”

“It’s my pleasure, Agents. Enjoy your vacations. Romanov, may I have a moment with you?”

“Yes, sir.” Clint walked out to join Thor, and Natasha shut the door.

“There is some well-founded concern about Agent Barton right now. We have done preliminary psych evals on the agents that we’ve gotten back, and it appears that once the ‘spell’ is broken, it's broken, but we don’t know about any lingering effects yet. So keep an eye on him.”

She nodded. “Understood, sir.”

“It’s up to you how you break the news to him about Coulson. It’s up to you if you stay for the funeral. It may be beneficial to him to stay, it may not be. I don’t know that, that’s up to you two. But please know that he thought very highly of you and Barton. He thought of you particularly affectionately.”

Natasha felt tears gathering, blinked them back quickly and merely said, “Yes, sir, thank you sir.”

“Keep an eye on him.”

“I will, sir.”

“And take care of yourself.”

~*~

Natasha broke the news to Clint about Coulson that night. She wanted to be the one to do it, before he heard it from someone else. They were sitting on the couch of the tiny apartment Natasha used when she worked out of New York, and she had his hand in both of hers. He took the news stoically enough, but she registered the shock and grief in his expression. He bowed his head and was silent a long time. She held his hand, stroking it, noticing the scratches and cuts from the battle earlier that day, not knowing how to comfort him. He put his elbows on his knees and put his head down on his forearms, and she put her hand on the back of his head stroking his hair. “Clint, baby, it's okay.”

He went to his knees, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Oh, God, Natasha, I killed him. This is all my fault.” 

She held him a long time that night, telling him that it was alright, it wasn’t his fault. None of it was his fault, and everything was going to be okay. She told him that nobody blamed him, and he was going to be fine. She stroked his hair and soothed him, comforting him as best she could. Over a long time, he worked his way into lying on the couch with his head in her lap. After a long time, he went still with her stroking his head and cheek, singing Russian lullabies and whispering sweet nothings. When his breathing became deep and regular she watched him for a while, her hand on his shoulder.

“I love you, Clinton Barton.”

“I heard that. And I love you, too.”

~*~

Clint slept fitfully that night, rolling and tossing, sometimes mumbling fretfully. When he did, Natasha simply put one hand on him and whispered that she was there, that he was okay, that she loved him. He would go back into a still, quiet sleep, and she wondered what he was dreaming about that had him so miserable. Clint had always slept like the dead.

He woke up the next morning wanting to talk about their vacation, as if they hadn’t discussed Coulson, he had slept wonderfully and he was ready to move on to better, more positive things. She wasn’t sure she could put the past few days behind her so easily, but she did want to move forward, so she tried to get into the spirit of things.

Clint sat down with a bowl of cereal. “Where do you want to go, sweetheart?”

She took a sip of her juice. “I don’t know. Where is somewhere that we’ve never been?”

“Jeez, we’ve been everywhere but never been able to enjoy the sights. Rome?”

“That could be romantic, but my last mission there left a bit of a bad taste. Bermuda?”

“Too much lost shit. Hawaii?”

“Maybe. Australia?”

“I hate koalas.”

Natasha grinned. They discussed destinations over breakfast and came down to Hawaii or New Mexico. A coin toss decided for them: New Mexico. They only had a few things at the New York headquarters, but decided they would just buy whatever they needed when they got to the desert. Natasha was excited: she had plans to spend a lot of time reading, doing nothing, and lying in bed with Clint. Being decadent. 

They were scheduled to meet in Central park at one. They expected to be late but made it just before one and actually beating almost everyone there. No one had counted on the number of roads that would be closed due to the battle with the chitauri the day before, and it held them up more than they had expected. There was still time to chat before Thor arrived with Loki and the tesseract, though, and Natasha was especially glad to see Bruce Banner.

He came over to her, looking all around, moving haltingly. “Hi, Natasha….can I call you that?”

She smiled. “Of course.”

He looked down, his hands fidgeting with nothing. “Look, I’m sorry -“

She held up a hand. “Don’t be. We’ll forget it happened, and be friends. I think I’d rather like to have you as my friend.”

He smiled. “Okay.” His smile dimmed a bit. “Look, is Barton…is he okay?”

She gave a little half smile. “He is. Loki is gone.”

Bruce looked doubtful. “Okay. Just…keep an eye on him, okay? For your friend.” He smiled a bit shyly, and she patted his arm.

“I will.”

She walked over to Clint, who was watching for Thor and Loki, his jaw clenched. She put a hand on his arm. “Relax.” 

Tony Stark came over to shake their hands, telling Natasha that she made a much better assassin of aliens than she had a secretary. Natasha rolled her eyes but Clint smiled, and Tony shook his hand. “I look forward to working with you, Robin Hood.” 

Clint grinned. “Robin Hood steals from the rich, you know.”

Tony deadpanned. “True. I guess maybe I should give more to the poor.” He slapped Clint on the shoulder. “Good job yesterday.”

“Thanks, you too.”

Captain America looked over at Natasha and Clint standing together, seeming to size them up. He waved at them, Natasha waved back. Clint acknowledged him with a nod. 

Thor and Loki arrived late, carrying the tesseract. Clint scowled at Loki, arms crossed over his chest as if to hold himself back. Natasha turned to Clint and whispered, “We could always go to Asgard, I hear it’s lovely this time of year.” Clint’s lips quirked up.

Thor looked around to all of the Avengers, nodding to each, acknowledging them. He had said his goodbyes earlier: now it was time to go. Loki and Thor grabbed the tesseract, turned the container it was in, and in a flash of light were gone. 

Handshakes were given again with Tony joking they should do a movie night soon. Natasha said that she was in as long as she got to pick the movie. Tony moaned about chick flicks, Steve looked confused, and they all chuckled. 

Clint and Natasha got into the car and drove off to the airport.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always imagined that Loki's 'possession' of people was a bit of a hybrid: a cross between the Imperius curse and when Ron Weasley tried to destroy Slytherin's locket and Voldemort came out to taunt him with all his deepest insecurities. Loki, being the trickster god, would be the first one to promise the world and making someone he was forcing to follow him believe they were going along willingly. 
> 
> I also imagined that - like the Imperius curse - those with stronger minds and wills would be able to fight it off more easily, which is why he had to convince Clint instead of just taking him. I also thought that this small measure of control could be why Clint couldn't kill Natasha, especially an injured Natasha. I couldn't figure out a way to write this into the story without it being confusing, but I wanted to write in Natasha being puzzled as to why Clint missed her when he shot at such close range. Clint NEVER misses - unless he wants to. And she knows it.
> 
> The next couple of chapters are written, but I got some unexpected and horrific news a couple of days ago, so I'm a little bit hung up on that at the moment. I feel pretty sure that this is just an exercise in vanity at this point, but I'll get them up in the next few days for anyone who's interested. :)


	12. Decisions in the Desert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A two-month tour of the southwest, purchasing a necklace, an offer from Tony, and some pretty major decisions.

Clint and Natasha had a marvelous time in the southwest. When they weren’t lounging around, just spending time with each other, they spent six weeks driving to tons of tourist sites and took pictures of each other - some typical tourist shots, some romantic, some silly. Their favorite was a picture from the Grand Canyon…a dad with a family had taken pity on them when he saw them trying to take selfies and had volunteered to take a couple of pictures for them before the park closed for the day. Clint put his arm around Natasha’s waist and they smiled, then he pulled her to him and they kissed. The sun happened to shine a ray right behind Natasha’s head at that exact moment, creating a starburst effect, and it was their absolute favorite picture. 

Neither of them had ever been so silly in their lives: it felt foreign to them, slightly uncomfortable and more than a little scary, but still wonderful. They didn't know it was possible to laugh quite like they had been, easily and freely. It seemed as if they were trying to chase away Loki and the chitauri and Coulson’s death with laughter on some subconscious level they didn't know about, but they didn't care. They were just happy to laugh. It felt a little like they were undercover when Natasha jumped down from a boulder in her sundress and floppy hat laughing, when Clint caught her and spun her, kissing her. But there wasn't any target and they weren’t on a mission. They were on their own, being a couple, doing what normal couples do. Neither of them had any idea what “normal” couples did, beyond the undercover couples they pretended to be sometimes. Natasha and Clint were going on instinct, and were a little terrified by it. Neither of them had ever dreamed that there would come a day when they would laugh beyond quiet chuckles at black humor - yet here they were, in love, kissing softly and sweetly in the New Mexico desert on the way back to the safe house as the sun began to sink. They realized immediately how cliche that was, and didn't give one single solitary shit.

Every night, they made love and Natasha drifted to sleep, her back against Clint's chest, his arms around her with their fingers interlaced and his face nuzzled in her hair. He told her how much he loved her, how beautiful she was, how much she meant to him. She loved him, too, and he knew it - she could finally say it and told him frequently - but he wanted her to fall into the darkness of sleep knowing she was safe and loved. By him. He wanted her to feel and know the security in the night that he didn't have, that was being robbed from him.

He lay awake every night, praying he could stay awake because as long as he was awake and with Nat, he was free, happy and secure. But at night, in the darkest recesses of sleep, Loki still came to him. Loki told him that she'd lied when she said she loved him, and that every time she made love to him she was simply using him the same way she had used the men she targeted during operations. Sometimes Loki jeered at him about Phil Coulson’s death, telling Clint it was all his fault. Loki taunted him until he was begging, crying, pleading for Loki to stop, please go away and stop saying these things. He couldn't take it. 

Clint would wake up sweating, sometimes muttering, and Natasha was always there. She told him she loved him, she was there and she always would be, that everything was going to be okay. He would gather her close and pray for sleep to elude him until it inevitably settled on him again. It happened every night and became a pattern. The next morning, every morning, Clint acted if nothing had happened and Natasha reluctantly followed his lead. She wanted to find the demons in his head and chase them out, but she didn't pursue it. She just hugged and kissed him a little more than usual first thing in the morning. Clint knew why, but he wasn't turning it away. He appreciated the comfort.

Natasha wanted to visit Las Vegas and enjoy it, not like the other times they had been while working a mission. They contacted Fury to make sure that the safe house was open, then made the drive. Clint went out to buy makeup, a wig and a couple of cocktail dresses for Natasha. He knew her size and tastes perfectly, he didn't need her along. She'd spent time in Vegas, she couldn't afford to be recognized. They gambled and saw some shows, things that they had both done before but hadn’t been able to relax and enjoy because they’d had to be watching a target and listen to a monitor in their ear. They still watched their backs, but had a wonderful time. Clint didn’t mind Natasha as a blonde. 

Clint was delighted when he found out the circus was in town. He insisted on taking Natasha, reminding her that he had promised years ago and he had to honor that promise. Something stirred in her, seeing him at the circus; he seemed as excited as a child as he pointed things out to her, dragged her over to the clowns and animals, then beat every rigged game, winning so many prizes that a laughing Natasha began giving them to children passing by. He took her on the carousel, putting her on a white horse next to his brown and holding her hand as they spun around and around, up and down. They went on the Ferris wheel and he kissed her at the top, putting his arm around her, holding her tight when she looked around warily as the car rocked, telling her he loved her and would never let something happen to her on his watch. 

They made love that night and Natasha fell asleep curled into Clint, feeling as safe and happy as she ever had. He was inhaling the lingering smells of his childhood mingled with the scent of the love of his life, his face buried in her hair, content and happy, lucky in love, wanting the next week to last forever.

Sleep found him more quickly than usual that night, and Loki rode in on the tide of his subconscious like Alexander the Great claiming Egypt.

"You are living a lie."

_Go away, Loki. You are the lie._

"She does not love you. She loves only herself."

_No. She loves me. There isn’t any reason to doubt anymore, she told me._

"She lies. She will leave you someday, when a better man, a man who is good and not broken, comes for her."

_She won't. She WON’T._

"Her heart will never be yours. She gave her body to be claimed by others, and still does whenever required. But her heart...her heart...her heart belongs to no one...least of all you. You will never have her, Clint, she will never love you..."

Clint sat up and roared, "NO!"

Natasha bolted upright, jumping out of sleep into a wide defensive stance, climbing immediately back onto the bed when she saw Clint wild-eyed and sweating. She put her arm on his shoulder tentatively as he heaved for breath, looking around the bed at nothing.

"Clint, baby, what's wrong? Tell m-"

He grabbed her suddenly, pulling her across her his lap and kissing her roughly. "You love me. Tell me. _Say it!_ "

"Clint, you know I do..."

" _Say it, dammit!_ "

“Clint. Calm down.” She gently started to push away, positioning herself optimally to defend herself if need be.

He didn't let up. "I need to hear it, Natasha. Please! Tell me you love me. Tell me you're mine, just mine, that you won't leave me. I've got to hear it. _Please!_ " He let her go and she slid backward. He looked at her, haunted and searching. "I've got to know. Tell me he's lying!" He leaned forward and brought both fists to his head. "I can't stand it, Natasha, please just tell me."

She reached up tentatively and rubbed the back of his head, contemplating. This was Clint. She had seen him do things that defied belief. He could spot and hit targets he wasn't looking at, that he hadn't seen coming. He never missed unless he wanted to. He was strong: until she met Thor and Captain America, he was the strongest man she had ever known. He was mentally strong; she'd never seen a mission break him. And even when he came back from being abducted by Loki, he hadn't seemed broken. Or tormented. Not like this. Clint Barton was the toughest man she knew. She had a hard time comprehending him being laid so low - over her. 

She spoke softly. "Clint, look at me." He looked up, and she saw no trace of Loki, only Clint, but his eyes were agonized and her heart fell to the earth, shattering. She touched his face and kissed his lips lightly. "I love you, Clinton Barton. I'm yours. Only yours and nobody else's. For as long as you'll have me." 

He grabbed her, pulling her into his lap and put his head on her chest, letting a strangled, muffled sob. She stroked his head and back, shushing and soothing, waiting until he calmed down. When he had settled, she stretched out, guiding him to lie back down. She lay in front of him, facing him, stroking his face and hair.

"Clint, do you dream about Loki?"

He nodded. 

"He tells you I don't love you?"

He nodded again, looking away.

She put her hand to his cheek. "Is that all he tells you?" He looked at her quickly, then looked away again.  "I want to know what he says so I can prove what a liar he is. Because he is a damned liar. He is a trickster god. His magic is deceit, and he thrives on the misery he causes because of it." 

He closed eyes tight and gathered himself, swallowing hard before he answered, "He says that you'll leave me the first chance you get. That everything you've ever told me has been a lie. Sometimes he harasses me about Coulson.” He took a deep breath and looked at her. "And he says that you enjoy sleeping with other men on operations."

Natasha recoiled, her eyes flashing. Her mind reeled and she cursed Loki for the torment he was causing Clint. She strived to keep her tone level and calm when she said, "Clint, I have not let another man touch me since Jamaica. On an mission or otherwise."

He watched her face, searching for the truth. "But what about...how did you..."

"I've sit on their laps and kissed them when I had to. Part of my job is to flirt with them and get in their heads. I have to do that, it's my job. But if they started to feel me up...I slipped their drinks."

He just stared at her. "You're telling the truth."

"Yes. Ever since Jamaica. Nobody but you, Clint. And as for the rest of the bullshit he's fed you...well, I don't know how to convince you I love you and don’t want anyone else, but I do and I won't. I'd do anything to prove it to you, though."

"Marry me." Clint was surprised at his own words; he hadn't planned them, but realized that he didn't want to call them back.

She blinked. "What?"

"Marry me. Be my wife." He reached for her hand and kissed it. "Please."

She sat up. "You're not serious."

He sat up beside her. "I'm deadly serious. I don't want anything in this life but you. I want to wake up next to you every morning. I want you to be Natasha Barton. Please. Please marry me, Nat."

She just looked at him, dumbfounded. “Holy shit, Barton. I don't know what to say."

"'Yes' would be the optimal answer."

"Like, right now?"

"I hadn't thought about it, but yeah, we are in Vegas, so we could if you wanted to. It's up to you."

“Jesus.” She rubbed one hand over her open mouth. ”What about work?"

"What about it?"

"We're not allowed to have any kind of romantic relationship, you know this. We got off lucky as shit when Fury found out last time. What if he finds out now? Getting married would be way beyond the pale."

"I don't care. Fuck them. Marry me."

She just looked at him, dumbfounded. "I can't run out on S.H.I.E.L.D., they keep me alive. We'd have to play by their rules."

Clint beamed. ”Oh God, you're coming up with ways to make this work. You're not going to say no, are you?"

She ignored him. "Do you know we'd have to hide it from everyone?"

"Yes, for a while."

"Are you okay with that?"

"I'll survive."

"We wouldn't be able to wear rings or anything."

"We'll improvise."

"Do you understand that until Fury knows and takes pity on us, I'll still have to sit on laps and cozy up to marks to get the job done sometimes?" 

"It'll eat me alive, but it already does. It's bothered me almost from the beginning, Nat. I've been jealous and wanted to fucking castrate every one of those bastards before I slit their throats. But I trust you and know the score. Just try not to, and don't enjoy it when you do."

"I never do." She lay back down, throwing her arm across her forehead and staring at the ceiling, still stunned. He lay beside her, rolling her to him and entwining their arms and legs while rubbing her hair gently, looking at her softly. 

She looked at him, still not fully comprehending, wanting to make him understand. "Do you understand that I'm not going to leave you whether we're married or not?"

"Yes. But I still want to marry you."

She thought a few moments, her face screwed up in concentration, shaking her head every now and then. He just watched her, unusually calm for such an important moment in his life. He had heard the direction her thoughts had taken and read her body language. This was his Tasha, and he knew her, inside and out. She was about to be his fiancée. This was it. He'd waited a long time. Clint savored the moment.

"Are you sure this is what you want? This isn't an emotional reaction to your bad dreams? Or New York?"

He kissed her lightly. "Tasha, I've wanted to marry you for the last three years. For the longest time I never dreamed you'd have me, then I was wanting to wait for the right moment: until we got some better living arrangements and wouldn't have to hide it and all that, but it looks like I botched that." He grinned. "I can try again later, if you'd like. But you know my intentions now."

She kissed him. "No, you don't need to try again.” She chewed her lip, her eyes glinting. “I don't know that I can marry you. I love you too much, and being the Black Widow and all…”

“Oh shut up. If we haven’t killed each other by now, I think we’re good.”

She got serious again. “Clint, I want to marry you, but I don't see how it will work."

"So are you saying yes, you'll marry me at some point?"

She smiled. "Yes. As soon as we figure out the details."

He beamed and rolled her under him, kissing her deeply. "As long as you're promising to marry me. That's all I care about at the moment." 

"I am."

He kissed her, long and slow, communicating a wealth of meaning with no words. Then he stopped kissing her suddenly and rolled onto his side, pulling her close. "Go to sleep."

She craned her neck and blinked at him, confused. "...but...I thought since we just got engaged we might....?"

"Not right now. You need to sleep, we have to be up in a couple of hours. We're going jewelry shopping as soon as the stores open. I want to get something on you before you change your mind."

~*~

Natasha was surprised to find that she was little disappointed she couldn't get a traditional diamond engagement ring. Clint was disappointed too; she could tell that he very much wanted to do the whole traditional thing as much as possible, but given their professions and the fact that they weren't even supposed to be dating, going home with a big sparkly solitaire didn't seem wise. When they revealed that they were a couple and just how much of a couple they were, maybe then they'd go for the ring. They didn't know - everything was kind of a haze of joy at that moment.

They decided that some sort of necklace seemed like the best idea. She could wear it all the time, it was much less likely to be lost, she didn't have to take it off during ops - it was just the best choice. Clint wanted to get her a diamond solitaire necklace, possibly one that could later be turned into a ring. Natasha was on board and looking at stones when she spotted what she wanted in another case and pointed it out to Clint. He was reluctant to leave what he was looking at, he had his eye on a half-carat oval, but Natasha insisted and he followed.

It was a small arrow of white gold on a delicate chain, and she couldn't think of anything more perfect. Clint was touched that she wanted to send even that much of a message to the world, wearing what was clearly his mark. He kissed her and told her he'd do better by her soon. She kissed him back and said, "Let's go do it now."

~*~

A couple of hours later, the two hardened assassins showed up at a little chapel to be married. Clint wore a charcoal suit with no tie, Natasha had picked out a simple, strapless knee-length a-line, white with little lavender roses embroidered and a lavender sash. She left off the wig and styled her hair just the way he liked it, she carried a nosegay of flowers in shades of purple. Clint was thrilled when he saw: she'd picked his favorite color. 

They spoke their vows, and when the time came for an exchange of rings Natasha raised her hair, Clint fumbled a little with the catch on the necklace, clasped it, then kissed her on the back of the neck where the chain lay. She turned to face him, radiating, and the bored-looking clergyman pronounced them man and wife in front of two hired witnesses. He kissed her, a scorching, possessive kiss that would have embarrassed anyone who was paying attention, then scooped her up and carried her out.

Since they had used their IDs that identified them as Clint Barton and Natasha Romanov to get married, wanting it to be legal, they decided skipping town and heading east may be best. Old habits died hard for paranoid spies, and they might as well meander their way back home, they were almost out of time. 

For the rest of the day, she kept reaching up to touch the little arrow that marked her as belonging to Hawkeye. Mrs. Clint Barton. Damn, that was a mindfuck. But she looked down at her hand, fingers laced with her husband's ( _husband_?) and smiled, thinking she would enjoy getting used to this.  Clint followed her gaze and brought their hands up to his lips, kissing her hand as he drove. 

"I love you, sweetheart."

"I love you, too."

They drove in comfortable silence for a while, Clint stroking her thumb with his absently. After a while, he broke the silence.

"So, uh, here's something we never talked about."

She looked over at him. "There's a lot we didn't talk about. We kind of dove into this thing head first...but I'm not sorry." He smiled. "What's on your mind?"

He darted a glance over at her. "What's your name going to be?"

She frowned. "I hadn't really thought about that. It has to stay 'Romanov' for work, doesn't it?"

"Probably, or we'll blow our cover."

"What do you want it to be?"

He paused, stroking her hand, sensing a test. "As much as it may make me a chauvinist pig, I really like the sound of Natasha Barton. But I won't raise hell if you want to keep your name."

She pondered. "How long do we have to decide?" 

"Until we get the legal marriage certificate, I think. I’m not exactly well-versed in this kind of protocol. Illegal IDs are more my thing.“

"Okay. I'll chew on it. I'm not sure which I prefer." She leaned over to kiss him on his cheek. "I'm Mrs. Barton either way, right?"

He smiled. "That you are, sweetheart."

~*~

They decided to stop at the Hoover Dam for the night. There was a while yet until sunset, but it had been a long day, they were hungry and, well, they had plans for the evening.

Clint had found them a surprisingly nice hotel and was checking in under an assumed name when Natasha's personal cell phone rang. She was surprised enough by the contact to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Why, hello, Agent Romanov. How's the vacation?"

"Lovely. How can I help you, Mr. Stark?"

"Please. We saved the world together, we ate schwarma together. I like to think we're friends. Call me Tony. I'm still unclear as to whether to call you 'Natasha' or 'Natalie,' though." 

She smiled in spite of herself. "Natasha is fine. Or Nat.”

"Excellent! And how is Agent Barton? Is he enjoying your vacation? May I call him Clint?"

Natasha was momentarily taken aback that Tony would know they were together, but hoped she recovered quickly enough. "Uh, he's having a nice time as well. I'm sure it's fine if you call him Clint."

"Good, good, that'll make this easier. I don't know if you've been following the news or if you've been otherwise occupied..." Natasha's cheeks burned "...but I've been doing some pretty extensive renovations and remodeling to Stark Tower. In fact, it's Avengers Tower now."

"Really?" 

"Yes. I've created a home base for the six of us, complete with training centers, labs, medical clinics, entertainment areas, gyms, the works."

"That's really impressive."

"It is. Of course, there may be things you may want that I haven't thought of, but we can accommodate that. We've got plenty of room."

"That's -"

"I've also got one dedicated floor for each Avenger. You can remodel or redecorate however you like. So you can paint yours pink with little spiders, Hawkeye can turn his into a nest, or you can make some kind of mashup. I'm sure one of the modern art galleries would be all over it."

Clint walked up as Natasha stood there listening, slightly slackjawed. He signaled - ' _what's wrong_?’ She signaled back - ' _nothing, hang on_.’

She said, "Tony, I don't know if I have enough furn-"

He cut her off, "Stark Industries is providing the furnishings, appliances, and whatever painting or remodeling you want to do. Basically, 'the house is on the house.'" Her mouth was a fully round O. "All you have to do is go to a store that delivers to NYC and have the bill sent here."

"Tony, we couldn't possibly-"

"Natasha, I have a feeling that the Avengers are going to be called upon very frequently. We, as a team, have a tremendous amount to offer this world. It would behoove us - and by extension the entire world - to function better as a team, instead of running around doing our own thing all the time."

"What about S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

"We'll be working in conjunction with S.H.I.E.L.D.. Can't get away from the bastards."

She just stood there for a moment, then said the only thing that came to mind: "I don't know what to say, Tony."

"Don't say anything just yet, the renovations aren't done. Just stop by the Tower on your way back to S.H.I.E.L.D. so you can take a look and - ah - maybe claim a room next to a nest."

Natasha's cheeks went up in flames and Clint's eyebrows furrowed. Natasha _never_ blushed. 

"Okay, we'll come by."

"Enjoy the rest of your vacation. Say hi to Katniss."

She laughed. "Will do. And thank you."

She hung up and turned to Clint. "You're not going to believe this."

~*~

Clint and Natasha decided to go to dinner before settling in for the night, and they left before even taking their bags up to the room. Clint looked up the location of a good Greek restaurant nearby, somewhere intimate, and put on the GPS. On the drive, Natasha told him about the conversation with Tony.

Clint said immediately, "I wanna do it."

"We haven't talked about it."

"We're talking about it now."

"We have to get better at this talking about things thing. Apparently there's still lots of ground to cover."

"There is. I'm sure we'll always have things to talk about."

"Why do you want to do it?"

"Think about it, Nat, two entire floors of a state of the art building all to ourselves, and we wouldn't have to hide. As much."

"I'm glad you quantified that."

"Well, yeah." Clint made a left and Siri complained. "Oh, go to hell, Siri."

"I don't know, Clint. It's a big switch."

"Exactly. It would almost be living like normal people, except not. It sounds like Stark already knows about us, or has guessed. We wouldn't have to hide all the time. We wouldn't be under constant surveillance."

"Don't be naive."

He sighed. "You're right. The press is onto us, clearly. But I'd at least like to set up housekeeping, even if we keep residences at S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Tower until we decide. Will you think about it?"

She smiled. "I will."

Siri told Clint turn right while still on a bridge. ”God, Siri, will you fuck off already? I'll make the right turn when I get to the fucking road."

~*~

They pulled back into the hotel parking lot and Clint parked. "Stay here. Just a second." He hopped out of the car, went back to the trunk and got their two bags, strapping them across himself, then stopped by the backseat to grab her bouquet. He then opened her door, handing her her bouquet and smiling. "Mrs. Barton?"

She stifled a giggle. "Mr. Barton?"

"May I show you to our room?"

"I'd be delighted."

He took her hand in his, kissing it as he helped her stand up. He pulled her body flush to his and she wrapped her arms around his neck, putting a nosegay of flowers beside his head. He dipped his mouth towards hers, nipping at her lips. Once, twice, then claimed her, spreading his hands wide on her back and pulling her into him. 

"God Natasha. I love you so fucking much." He kissed her again, running his hand over her ass and down her thigh, pulling her leg up around him, letting her feel how hard he was getting for her. She ground against him a little and he moaned, kneading her thigh just behind her knee.

Natasha was sucking Clint's earlobe and kissing that spot behind his ear at the edge of his jaw...the place that always left him weak-kneed when she licked him there. She darted her tongue out and tasted him there, and he shuddered. "Clint?"

"Yeah, sweetheart?"

"There a bed inside with our name on it."

He raised his head, seemed to come out of some sort of reverie, and grabbed her hand. His face was grim determination - a man on a mission - when he started pulling her across the parking lot. "Come on, we gotta go." 

~*~

She caressed his arms and kissed his shoulders in the elevator, smiling wickedly when he clenched his fists and jaw to maintain control. "You're evil."

"Yes, I am," she whispered, standing on tiptoe so her lips were brushing the spot behind his ear. He shivered, gave up the fight with a growl and turned, grabbing her by the waist with the bags slapping each other on his back as the elevator dinged the top floor.

_Thwarted._

Clint grabbed her hand and fairly dragged her, smirking, down the hall.

“There's a penthouse in this place?" 

He nodded and scanned the key card, opening the door and holding it with his foot. “This place got three and three quarter stars. It’s the best I could scrounge up.”

She made a move to go in, he held out a hand to stop her. "Wait." 

Clint whipped the two bags off his shoulders and tossed them into the room haphazardly, then turned to Natasha, put both hands on her face and brought his lips to hers. He kept the kiss chaste and sweet, romantic, but she brought her body to his, arching herself backwards and opening her mouth to him. 

He picked her up, kissing her deeply, and carried her across the threshold, letting the door close behind them. She pulled back. "Oh, Clint, I can't believe you did that."

"There wasn't much I could do, but you were by-god going to have some of what other brides have on their wedding days."

She smiled at him, her hard-as-nails husband, the assassin, worrying over whether she had a romantic enough wedding. "It was perfect."

She pulled him closer to kiss him and he took her to the bed, his unerring vision finding it without fail even in the very low light, and laid her down. 

He started to undress quickly, and she sat up to unzip her dress. He stopped her. "No. Let me." She smiled at him, slid off her heels and laid back down, watching him take off his clothes, loving the sight of his muscles flexing and rolling under his skin. 

_I can touch him whenever I want. He's mine now. Forever._

She sat back up and walked over on her knees to where he stood by the bed, putting her hands on his chest, lightly running her fingers along his torso. "I had to touch you. You're so beautiful."

"Men aren't supposed to be beautiful."

"Tough shit. You are." She ran her hands up his chest, enjoying the feel of his muscles jumping and flexing under her touch as much as she’d enjoyed watching, and reached up behind his neck. "Kiss me, Hawkeye."

He wrapped one arm around her waist, holding her body tight to his as he laid them down, positioning her partially under him on the bed, kissing her softly, trying desperately to be romantic and make their first night as a married couple special. Natasha was making soft, whimpering sounds and undulating under him, winding one leg around him, and if she kept it up he was going to be throwing romance out the window and going straight for 'make her scream.' 

Clint turned them on their sides and fumbled for her zipper, finding it and sliding it down. His hand sought out the soft skin of her back, spreading his fingers and kneading her skin, pulling her even tighter to him as if he wanted to absorb her and never let her go. She released his mouth with a moan, started grinding his leg, and Clint's ability to romance his wife dropped another few degrees. He took hold of her bra and, with the ease of someone who had a great deal of practice with this particular bra, snapped it open. 

She grinned against his skin at how easily he'd freed up the skin of her back and then licked the spot on his neck, where the shoulder meets. Clint clutched her ass, pulling her warmth against him, feeling how wet she was through her panties. He ground against her a few more times, liking the mewling sound she made, before he pushed her back from him and sat her up. 

"I swear to God, Nat, I wanted to go slow tonight. But I don't think it's going to happen." He bunched up her dress and pulled it over her head, catching her bra as he went, tossing her red hair everywhere and thinking he had never seen anything so fucking sexy in his entire life as her in that moment, naked, hair rumpled, smiling at him and wearing his necklace. 

"Goddamn, Natasha," he muttered, and he assaulted her with a kiss, pushing her back onto the bed, mining her mouth with his tongue, his hand slipping into her tiny lace panties and surging with pride when she whimpered and arched to him. "You're so wet, sweetheart. So fucking wet."

"It's your fault."

"Damn right." He slipped a finger inside and she made a little sound, he put his thumb on her clit and she gave a soft little moan. 

She looked at him, her eyes hooded and her cheeks flush. "Oh please, Clint. Please baby." She bit her lip.

He slipped another finger in her and rubbed circles on her clit, moving them in and out as he licked and kissed his way down her torso. "Shhh, sweetheart." He suckled a nipple and she ground against his hand. 

He planted open mouth kisses and licked spirals on her abdomen as he fucked her with his fingers. She moaned, "God, Clint, please...please..."

"Please what?" Clint asked, feigning innocence, kissing the inside of each thigh. She groaned and rolled her body, pleading. He kissed all around her, his fingers still working, listening to her keen and moan. 

He removed his hand and she whimpered in protest. He wrapped one arm around each thigh, repositioning his thumb on her clit and resumed making circles. He licked her, his tongue just barely parting her lips, tasting her juices. She clenched her hands over her head and bucked against his face. He retreated, smiling, then licked her again, slowly and lightly. She bucked against his face again. She knew this game but wasn't in the mood to play tonight. 

"Goddammit, Barton!" 

"You want more?" 

"Yes!"

He licked her again, so, so lightly and she grabbed for his head. "I swear to Christ, Clint, if you don't - oh!"

He had removed his thumb and shoved his fingers back into her, replacing his thumb with his tongue, sucking and licking like lightning. His fingers slammed into her with the perfect amount of force as she moaned and yelled, declarations that made no sense, English and Russian mixed with his name, and when he took her clit into his mouth and suckled it, crooking his fingers towards him inside of her, she screamed. He kept going as she pulled his hair, begging - for what neither of them knew - until she was sobbing, crying out, shuddering. He slowed, removed his fingers then stopped, licking her clean, feeling her shudder. He crawled up her body, planting soft, quick kisses on her torso, smiling every time she jumped from his touch, finally lying beside her as she panted for breath.

"That good, eh?"

"Jesus Christ, Hawkeye."

"We're not done."

"Good," she said, and rolled onto him.

~*~

They lay together a while later, tangled in the sheets, Natasha tucked under Clint's arm, each of them engrossed in their own thoughts, idly doodling patterns and words on the other's bare skin with their fingers. Clint rolled onto his side to face her, touching her necklace and looking into her eyes, probing. 

"I can't believe you actually married me."

She smiled, the Clint-only smile. "You asked."

"I mean it. I'm waiting to wake up, it doesn't seem real. This is so unlike us. Especially ever since Loki -"

"Hey. Don't bring him into this. I don't want that bastard in our bed."

"I'm sorry. I just...it occurs to me how different we are. How much we've changed each other." 

She pondered. "Do you think we're completely different? Or just with each other?" 

It was his turn to think for a minute. "At work or in everyday situations, I'm the same as I ever was. I'm clearheaded, I can do what I need to do and there's no interference. But when it comes to you...if you get involved somehow...I'm ruined. There's no fucking way I would have bounced around a carnival for fun before I met you, or that I’d even do it now with anyone else. And before you, the thought of getting married made me laugh and cringe at the same time. But for the last couple of years - even before we were together - it's all I wanted. I wanted to come home to you, to sleep with you every night, to call you mine. And from the moment I got home from London and you kissed me, you've been my priority. If it comes down to you or pretty much anything else, I choose you." He paused. "Come to think on it, it's kind of been that way since I laid eyes on you. I blew orders for the first time ever over you." 

She kissed him. "So glad you did."

He continued slowly, "And I think, if I read you correctly in the infirmary, that you're the same way. Is that what you meant when you said you were compromised?"

She nodded.  "You were all I could think about. Getting you back safely. I still managed to do what had to be done, but it was all colored by getting you back. You were priority." She paused. "I think maybe Fury and Coulson knew what they were doing when they separated us that time."

He growled. "I still disagree."

"It's academic now." She kissed him. "Are you pissed about how different we are?"

He looked contemplative. "No, not pissed. But I understand what you meant about not liking feeling so vulnerable. Lo- he hit me where I live, and he brainwashed me with it."

"Do you wish we hadn't gotten married?" 

"No, not at all. Honestly, I think getting married is the most therapeutic thing I could have done to get rid of him. I'll feel better when we can live openly, but I understand that will be a while." He looked worried. "Do you regret it?"

"Not at all. I'm really very content with my decision." He smiled at her and she rolled into him, curling up for sleep. "Besides, even if I did, it's too late to have it annulled. We've already consummated it. A couple of times. Thoroughly. And quite creatively, I might add.”

Clint dreamed of Loki that night, but this time when he told Loki to fuck off, he did.


	13. New Home, New Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breaking the news to Fury, then setting up housekeeping.

Clint and Natasha rolled back into DC two days before their scheduled return date. They debated getting a hotel for two nights, but both of them were a bit anxious to get back home to their own clothes, their bed, their bathrooms, and possibly a real cooked meal, so they went back to S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. 

They parked in the garage after hours and went straight to Clint's apartment, dropping off their bags and collapsing into a heap on the couch. 

"So when do you think we should go-"

Clint's phone rang. He answered it, said "yes, sir" a couple of times while Natasha walked into the kitchen to pour them each a coke, and then hung up. 

"That was Fury. He wants us in his office in forty-five minutes.”

“Oh, fuck.”  


~*~

Fury strode into his office where Natasha and Clint sat waiting. "Well, well, if it isn't Mr. and Mrs. Barton?"

They froze. 

He didn't look at them, just continued to his desk and had a seat, propping up his feet. ”So you two decided to make a pit stop in Vegas and have a little wedding? Breaking S.H.I.E.L.D. protocol into a thousand fucking pieces all over the fucking floor in the process?"

Clint looked at Natasha, who looked cornered. "Sir..."

He held up his hand. "Save it. I don't want to hear it, because I don't give a damn. Not one single solitary fuck. When I first found out about you two, I let it go on Coulson's advice. Hell, I even thought it was cute. As long as it didn't cause a problem amongst my agents and they all didn’t start fucking like rabbits or you two didn't start getting stupid on the job, I'd let it slide. Let y'all have your little work romance. As long as it ain't bothering nobody, I ain't gonna stir the shit. I had no idea you guys were so serious about each other. And I usually know everydamnthing.” He leaned forward in his chair. “Goddammit, Barton! _Married?_ Jesus!”

He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms, looking from one to the other. "So what the fuck do you have to say for yourselves? What the fuck are we gonna do here? I can't go out there and tell all of S.H.I.E.L.D. that my best two agents have been carrying on a clandestine romance and got fucking married under my goddamn nose. So what do I do? Should I have your little marriage annulled and put you two on assignments on opposite fucking sides of the globe?"

Natasha spoke up, "All due respect, sir, if you do that, I will quit S.H.I.E.L.D. and follow him. Then remarry him."

Clint cut his eyes at her, surprised. Fury looked at her appraisingly. "Is that so, Romanov?"

"Barton, sir." Fury's eye widened and Clint turned his head fully to look at Natasha now, not trying to hide his shock. She darted her eyes at him and her lip quirked almost imperceptibly. "Professionally, I will remain Agent Romanov. But that's no longer my name." 

Clint kept the shit-eating grin off his face by sheer willpower.

Fury looked at her hard. "You realize that to leave this organization would be tantamount to walking out on the street with a fucking bullseye on your head?"

"Yes, sir.”

“You’re willing to do that for him?”

“Absolutely, sir.”

“Jesus.” Fury flopped back into his chair. He propped his chin on one hand. "Agent Barton?” He made an impatient, spinning gesture with his hand in the air. “The original Agent Barton?"

"Yes, sir?"

"What the hell were you two thinking? How were you planning to handle this?"

"Well, director, we just weren't going to tell anybody and keep going like we were, for the most part."

"For the most part? The hell does that mean?”

"Tony Stark offered us a couple of apartments in Avengers Tower when it's finished renovating. We planned to request transfers to NYC, move into Avengers tower, and continue to keep our relationship a secret. Especially our marriage.”

Fury glared at him. "Sounds like you had it all worked out. Did you completely forget that you work for a goddamn intelligence agency? Or were you drunk?”

Natasha spoke up, “No, sir, we weren’t drunk at all, although it was a bit spur-of-the-moment. And that plan was the best we could think of, sir. It's what we would have requested even if we hadn't gotten married. We wanted to be together regardless."

"Well, that sounds like a hell of a plan. You two have put a lot of thought into it."

Clint and Natasha glanced at each other nervously, knowing that their futures hung on the next few words and feeling the gravity of that fact.

Fury knew it, too, and drug it out. "I'm not at all fucking happy with you two. I could put your asses through all manner of hell. I'm tempted to. I still might.”  They nodded. Fury waited a moment. "But I'm going to do what Coulson would have wanted me to do. _Goddammit_.”

They looked at each other and then at Fury. "Sir?"

"I'm transferring you two to NYC and approving your move to Avengers Tower upon it's completion - provided you keep your marriage a secret for now. It'll get out eventually, but not now. When it does, we'll deal with those ramifications then, I suppose." Natasha let out a whoosh of relief. "And as a special gift, Agent Romanov-dash-Barton will no longer be used as a decoy." 

Clint had never wanted to kiss a man before that moment. 

"You're dismissed. Report for duty at 8am tomorrow. You don't go to NYC until Avengers Tower is habitable.”

~*~

They visited the newly remodeled Avengers Tower and picked out a couple of floors, the two that Tony pointed out had a staircase to each other. Clint and Natasha said nothing; Natasha tried not to meet Tony's smirking gaze while Pepper smacked his arm, and Clint just said that they would each be in touch with the architectural company to pick out floor plans. They all shook hands, Tony winking at Natasha and clapping Clint on the shoulder and sending them off with a parting, "you two kids have fun." 

When they got into the car, Clint said, "He knows. That makes it a lot easier." 

"How?"

"We can just have one apartment here. We don't have to keep up an appearance."

"We still can't tell anyone from S.H.I.E.L.D. Or the other Avengers, really. Not the part about us being married, anyway."

"No, but we don't have to worry about being spotted all the time, and the Avengers are going to find out eventually anyway. Plus, I think they'll be cool with it when they do. We just have to talk Tony into keeping quiet."

"I'm on it."

She called Tony to tell him they'd take his offer. He told them to go online or to stores, pick out what furniture and appliances they wanted and have the bills sent to him. He called it a housewarming gift to Natasha, and told her to tell Clint he was just making sure Robin Hood didn’t come after him. Clint laughed. 

They met with the architectural firm and picked out floor plans for their floors. Each floor of Stark Tower could have comfortably fit four large apartments, so it was an embarrassment of riches, really, to design two huge apartment homes, one on each floor. They did, however, design both, in the spirit of keeping up appearances. Natasha's apartment took up about half of the floor: she and Clint had decided that this would be their home. It was large and airy with a breathtaking view of the city. They were each a little surprised and amused to discover a little more about each other as they planned their home: Clint wanted a minimum of three bedrooms and was aiming for five. He said that when he was a kid, he always wanted sleepovers and couldn't ever have them, and now that he was an adult he wanted to have a place for his friends to crash if they wanted to. Natasha wanted to point out that they didn’t really have friends yet, and their prospective friends would live in the same building and could just ride an elevator, but she compromised and they designed for four bedrooms. Lord knew they had the space for it. Natasha insisted on hardwood floors throughout and a fireplace. She said that hardwood made it easier to decorate and a fireplace made it feel more home-y to her. Clint didn't argue. 

Natasha also wanted something called a "garden tub" in the bathroom attached to their bedroom. He didn't know what that was, but she assured him he would like it. When it was delivered and installed, she took him in the bathroom to show it to him. He looked at it, she winked at him and he loved her more than ten minutes before.

Natasha wanted to paint the walls in various colors, and Clint said that was fine as long as he wasn't the one doing all the painting. Natasha brought home dozens of paint color strips and taped them to the walls, asking his opinion. She was displeased when he gave his official opinion: "I don't give a shit. That one's fine." In the end, he, Nat, Steve and Bruce painted for two days, with Natasha mostly supervising. She seemed to feel it was a team-building exercise. Clint had mixed feelings to see that Banner and Rogers were both a bit doe-eyed over Natasha.

They went to a store in NYC on a weekend off and sit on sofas and chairs, laid on beds, picked out lamps, dining tables, a fridge and dishwasher and washer/dryer then had it all delivered to Natasha's apartment while they drove back to Washington to tie up some loose ends.Tony heard of the delivery but hadn't received a bill, so he went down to investigate. He saw the receipt and payment arrangements, called the furniture company and paid it on the spot. He then called Clint and bitched for ten solid minutes. He never asked when Clint's furniture was coming. Natasha called him that night and told him that they had remodeled and furnished Clint's apartment, but wouldn't be using it, unless Clint really pissed her off. She stopped short of telling him they were married. Tony was a bit smug when he said that he was glad she'd gotten the apartment ready for the next Avenger to come along.

Clint and Natasha spent the first night in their new home a month after getting home from their vacation. The apartment still smelled of paint fumes, but not so overpoweringly that they couldn't stay. They'd spent the day hanging pictures, putting together furniture and moving it into position, and Natasha collapsed backwards onto the king-sized bed with her eyes closed.

"I am so tired."

Clint flopped down beside her and ran his finger along the collar of her t-shirt, touching her necklace. "You are so beautiful." 

"You really must love me to think I'm beautiful right now."

"I do, and you are."

She smiled for just a second then sighed. "I'm not looking forward to going to LA tomorrow."

"It'll be fine, sweetheart. It's just regular intel, nothing strenuous. You're only scheduled to be gone four days. And no more sexy decoy."

She raised an eyebrow. "You sayin' I'm not sexy, Hawkeye?"

He grabbed her by the waist and rolled over onto her, kissing her hungrily. "Never."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has become both an exercise in vanity and a challenge to myself to actually finish what I start. I've come damn close to throwing in the towel on this thing. If anyone is reading, let me know? I'd really appreciate it.


	14. The Dance Lesson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint doesn't understand women, and Steve asks Natasha for a favor.

Christmas, 2012

Clint and Natasha maintained an "open door" policy in their new home: if they were at home, decently dressed and not otherwise occupied, any of the Avengers or their significant others were welcome. They were both uncomfortable with the idea of making and having friends - it wasn't something either of them had ever done before - but each of them had an ulterior motive. Clint had noticed that Fury was pushing them each closer and closer to that two-week limit he had promised, and he suspected Fury was going to "forget" his promise altogether soon and send one or the other of them off somewhere for a couple of months. If that happened and it was him, he didn't want Natasha to be lonely...and he liked that she was growing so comfortable with the other members of their team. He wasn't entirely comfortable with the way Captain America looked at her, though, and he wasn't sure that Cap even realized they were a couple at all. He and Natasha weren't affectionate in front of people, Clint maintained his apartment (and even spent time there sometimes), and he nor Natasha had told anyone but Tony about their relationship. It appeared that he had kept his word, at least when it came to the Cap, because he looked at Nat sometimes with a look in his eyes that reminded Clint of the way he felt in the early days of their partnership, and all Clint knew was that he had to put a stop that without blowing their cover. 

Banner, however, looked at Nat the same way that Clint imagined a father should look at a daughter. His own father had been a piece of shit and Natasha couldn't remember her father, but he was pleasantly surprised to see that she responded, albeit somewhat warily, to Banner's brand of halting gentleness and affection. He supposed that after never knowing affection from any older man (save him), she wouldn't know what to expect or how to react. And besides, Bruce had tried to kill her once, so she wasn't exactly wrong to be wary of having him in her home. But Clint was pleased and surprised that she seemed to take to him, at least a little. 

Tony even came down to their apartment to spend time with them and the other Avengers rather often, sometimes bringing Pepper. Clint found himself liking Tony in spite of himself; the guy was a wiseass and gave off the douche vibe to a lot of people, but he was genuinely kind and cared about others. Once you were in his inner sanctum of people he truly cared about, he cared and was fiercely protective. He was also merciless in his teasing, and the bird jokes at Clint's expense never seemed to end. He learned very quickly not to mind, especially when Tony started in on Natasha and she laughed. 

Natasha further surprised him in her interactions with Tony and Pepper. Of course, she had a history with them and he figured that came into play, but she never seemed to mind Tony's teasing, unless it ventured too close into the "couple" territory. Anything other than that was fair game, as far as she was concerned, and he had never considered Nat as the type of girl who would enjoy being teased - at least by someone she didn't care and feel secure about. He pondered that: could she really feel secure around these people after just a few months? It was very unlike her, so very unlike her. But then running to a chapel in Vegas and marrying him had been the opposite of what he expected, too. 

Further evidence of Natasha being unlike herself: her behavior with Pepper Potts. Whenever it was just the Avengers, Natasha was just one of the guys. She laughed with them, played cards and drank beer with them, ate pizza with them, watched football with them. But when Pepper came over with Tony, the Nat and Pepper would sit in another room, sip wine and talk about God knows what. Clint heard them giggle often, and he'd overheard snippets of conversation as he'd walked through to the kitchen for more beer or something. He caught them talking about decorating, planning to go clothes shopping in New York, and to his utter mortification, he and Tony. On that occasion, he tried to lure her into the den and out of that conversation. "Hey, Nat? The game is on. The Hokies are up by fourteen."

"Okay, that's fine. Pepper and I are talking."

"You don't want to come watch?"

"No, Pepper and I are...talking."

And then they giggled. Giggled.   _What in the actual fuck._

Clint confronted her about it that night as they were getting ready for bed. "Sweetheart, I have a question."

She walked out of the bathroom in one of his button down shirts and he almost lost his nerve. "Shoot."

 _Oh well. Might as well_. "What the hell was with you and Pepper today? Actually, what's with you and Pepper every time she comes over? It's like you just disappear and some damn alien invades your body. I don't get it. I mean…what the fuck?" He opened his hands and smiled questioningly.

She stared at him, hard, then narrowed her eyes. He knew then that he had fucked up really badly somehow, and tried hard to shrink.

"Have you forgotten somehow that I am not male?"

"No..."

"Has it escaped your attention that I'm a woman?"

"Of course not..."

"Then what the fuck is your problem, asshole?"

He started to see where he had gone wrong. "Look, I didn't..."

"No, you didn't. You've only ever seen me in spy mode or bro mode. You've never seen me as a fucking woman. Christ!"

"What the fuck? That's goddamn unfair, Tasha! How could you say I've never seen you as a woman? I married you, didn't I? Are you saying I married a man and didn't know it?"

Clint slept in his own, lonely apartment that night, and spent a large part of the night trying to come up with a way to apologize... to a woman.

~*~

The next day, a flower delivery showed up for Natasha: three dozen sunrise roses. They were her favorite flower and only one person alive knew that. Her brow knitted, she knew who they were from and what they were for. He wasn't going to get off that easy, the dick. She opened the card anyway and burst out laughing in spite of herself.

_”I'm a dick. Still love me? Yes/No”_

_Dammit, Clint. You can't even let me be pissed for twenty-four hours?_

She picked up the phone and texted him: _yes you are. yes_

She heard his footsteps coming up their stairwell and refused to turn around, but smiled, and screeched as he picked her up by the waist from behind and kissed her neck. 

"I love you. I'm sorry."

"I know."

"I really didn't forget you're a woman, though. I just hadn't ever seen you act that way."

"I know."

"Either way, I love you."

She turned around and put her arms around his neck. "I love you, too. Dick."

"I'll be a dick as long as you love me."

She kissed him. "I've got some bad news."

"What's that?"

"Fury's sending me out for three weeks January 30th."

Clint swore. "I knew this was coming."

"I kind of figured, too."

"Where to?"

"Miami. I'm going with Davies. I'm supposed to be the bored trophy wife at the pool while he plays golf. No touching."

"Davies is a good guy, and he's suspected us for a long time. Plus he's an old fart. I'm not worried. I just hate that it's so long." He smiled bracingly. 

She kissed his nose. "You wouldn't have to worry even if it were Jude Law." She grinned mischievously. "Maybe Bradley Cooper, though."

"I don't know who that is, but I'm going to hunt him down and take him out."

She grinned. "We have our first Christmas together in two weeks, you know." 

"Oh yeah?"

"Mm-hm."

"We need to get a tree and stockings."

"I've never had a family at Christmas. I've never really celebrated, I'm not entirely sure how."

"To be honest, it's been so long since I've celebrated, I don't know if I'll remember much about it, either. But I think we'll muddle through."

~*~

Tony had installed Jarvis all over the building so that everyone had access to him if they needed him, but they had the option to turn him off and back on. Clint and Natasha found this a bit creepy and kept him off most of the time, but Natasha found herself turning Jarvis on occasionally when no one was home, just to keep an eye on things for her so she could let her guard down a bit. When they had finished the apartment she had put hardwood floors throughout the remainder of the empty floor and partitioned it off into one large room. She put a few pieces of exercise equipment in there and mirrors along two walls, so she went in there to work out often, with Jarvis watching her back. On this particular day, a couple of days before Christmas, she was getting ready for her mission in a month, working out a bit harder than usual when Jarvis interrupted her. "Ms. Romanov, Captain Rogers is knocking at your door."

"Thank you, Jarvis." She walked to the door of her makeshift gym and called down the hallway to her apartment door. "Hey, Cap! I'm in here!", waving to get his attention. 

He spotted her, waved back and started her way, coming into the gym. "Wow, this is nice." 

"Thanks, I kinda like it. What's up?"

"Well," he shifted his feet and looked around the room uncomfortably. “I know this is kinda weird. But, well, see, the thing is...when I went into the water in '45, there was this dame - I mean girl - and she and I...well, we kind of...I mean...jeez."

"You ok there, Cap?"

"Yeah, I'm not good at this. Talking to girls.” He took a deep breath. "We had a date, she and I. I was going to take her dancing. But, see...," he sighed, “I crashed the plane, and I never made it."

Natasha just looked at him. "That's really sad, Cap, and I'm sorry you lost your girl, but I don't understand why you're telling me about it."

"Well, it turns out she's alive. She's in a retirement home in DC. I want to go see her, and if she's able...I want to give her the dance I owe her."

Natasha's eyes almost got misty, but she tamped it down. "That's so sweet."

"...But I still don't know how to dance."

Natasha was back to being confused. "You lost me again."

"Well, I've been told that you used to be a dancer."

She looked at him, blankly. "That was ballet, and a long time ago."

"I just need to know the basics. Please."

"I don't know, Cap. I wasn't trained in the jitterbug." 

He chuckled. "The jitterbug went out of style when I was a kid. Besides, she's ninety-four years old, she's not going to be able to withstand anything that's not gentle." She looked doubtful. "Please. It would mean so much to have that dance before…you know…before she's gone."

 _Shit._ How could she deny that?

"Okay, what's a slow song from about that time?"

He thought for a second. "Always In My Heart. I think that would be most special."

"Jarvis, can you find that?," asked Natasha.

"By Mr. Jimmy Dorsey?"

"That's the one," said Steve.

The music started and Natasha said, "Okay, put out your left hand and take my right hand. Then put your right hand around my waist." 

He did as instructed, his arm ramrod straight, Natasha having to bend sideways to reach his hand. "Hey." She swatted his shoulder. "Relax."

"Sorry, ma'am."

"And quit it with the 'ma'am' stuff. I'm Natasha. Or Nat. But not ma'am. Now, relax your arms." He did, and she stepped closer. He tensed up. "I swear to God, Rogers, I'm not going to bite you. Hold me like you would your 'dame'." 

He looked surprised, then chuckled. "Okay, I'll try. But I've never done this before, remember?"

"Go on what you saw everyone else do. And instinct."

He wrapped his arm a little further around her waist and pulled her close - but not too close - and pulled their hands in closer. "Is that better?" 

"Yes. I imagine you'd be holding her closer, but this will do." She smiled. "The simplest thing I can tell you is just to sway and move your feet a little. The trick to slow dancing is that you're supposed to be so caught up in your partner that you're not paying attention to what your feet are doing, but if you're afraid that she's frail enough that you'll hurt her, we'll practice a bit."

He nodded and swallowed.

"So just listen to the music and sway gently. Very gently." He did. "Okay, now shift your feet just a little. You don't even have to really lift them off the ground, just enough to slide them a couple of inches every time you sway. Good! Now, turn a little." 

He was following directions well, not looking at his feet too much, but slow dancing well enough to dance with an elderly lady and make both of their dreams come true.

"Okay, Cap, I want you to hold me the exact same way you plan on holding her."

"I don't know..."

"It's fine. I won't take it personal. I just want to make sure you won't hurt her." 

Natasha was surprised when Steve gathered her close, pulling her arm in and resting his chin on her head. He closed his eyes and thought of his last conversation with Peggy...the tears in her voice, the fear he felt and the grief he had felt that now he'd finally found someone, he'd never see her again. It had just been a year and a half ago for him, the wounds were still fresh. He could still smell the freesia in her hair, he could still hear her voice and taste her kiss when she sent him off on the Valkyrie. He wondered how he would react when he saw her, old and frail, and he knew it wouldn't matter. He wondered if she would remember him at all, and tears pricked his eyes. 

"I gotta go. Thank you for teaching me to dance, I owe you one." He hurried away, and Natasha turned to watch him, bemused, looking to the doorway just in time to see Clint in the doorway with Bruce. Clint looked thunderous.


	15. The Worst Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Natasha have a truly horrible Christmas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is how it feels  
> Lean in to kiss the one that you love  
> And she turns a cheek  
> Let me tell you how it feels  
> Watching the walls of the house that you built  
> Start crumbling  
> And you feel love is passing by  
> One more time, but you're not surprised 
> 
> Yeah, we're all amateurs  
> And heaven knows we're not perfect  
> We try to get it right  
> We keep messing up, but we're learning  
> When the day is done, I wanna know  
> How do you love someone?  
> How do you really love someone?
> 
> "Amateurs" ~ Andy Davis

Natasha wasn't the least bit afraid of Clint, but she wasn't looking forward to dealing with him, either. Clint kept mostly silent while she socialized with Bruce for a bit, discussing plans for Christmas. They'd all decided to spend the holidays together, since none of them had any family to speak of. Pepper had made arrangements for a huge traditional feast Christmas afternoon, and they were all looking forward to it. But Bruce had suggested doing a small party with cards, secret Santa, Christmas movies and maybe drinks on Christmas Eve, and everyone had jumped on board. (They all usually did when drinks were involved.) So the three of them sat around discussing what to get their secret Santa, whom they had drawn that morning.

Natasha poured Bruce and Clint a coke, putting rum in Clint's. Natasha asked Bruce, "So, who'd you get?"

"Pepper. Who did you guys get?"

Clint smiled a little. ”I never tell. I just wanted to know if either of you got me."

Natasha snorted. Bruce asked her, "Who'd you get?"

She cut her eyes at Clint, bracing herself. "Cap."

"Shit." Clint slid his drink across the countertop and walked out of the room, she heard the door to the staircase slam. Natasha sighed and took Clint's drink, swirling it before she took a long drink. She twisted up her face a bit: she hated rum.

Bruce was quiet for a minute or so. "So, you two, that's a thing?"

"Yeah." 

Bruce nodded. "I figured as much."

She looked up. “Yeah? You did?"

"Yeah, I've had an idea since we debriefed on the helicarrier." 

Natasha looked dumbfounded. "Why? How?"

Bruce looked down and smiled, a small, sad smile. "Well, I'm very sensitive to my environment and emotions, for reasons I'm sure you can understand." She nodded. He continued, "You were a completely different woman when he was discussed. It was a radical change. The emotional shift was pretty amazing."

Natasha was stunned. All of those years she spent stuffing her down her emotions and pretending they didn’t exist, being trained and training herself to feel nothing. Now, not only was she feeling, she was feeling so strongly that other people were seeing what she was trying to hide. _Goddamn bloody hell._

He seemed to read her thoughts. "That's not a bad thing, Natasha. It's important for you to understand that."

"Yes it is. It makes me weak. Vulnerable." Her head was spinning.

"No." He reached across the counter and took her hand. "Having a weakness can often be our biggest strength, when we learn to control it. Look at me. Look at Tony. He taught me that, actually." She looked up at him. "I'm vulnerable. Under the right circumstances, I could lose control and destroy everything and everyone around me. Tony has a piece of metal next to his heart that could kill him at any moment if he doesn't control it with a piece of machinery." He tugged on her hand a little because she had looked away. "Those things became our greatest strengths. Stark used the technology that saved his life to invent clean energy that is revolutionary and will help millions upon millions of people. Not to mention help him become a superhero that keeps the world safe. I've learned to control mine for the most part, and I can use my strength and rage to save people's lives." He let go of her hand and tapped the counter to get her attention again. "Hey. Listen. Having a weakness, being human, it makes you better. It makes you stronger. You have to work harder, and that's a good thing."

She nodded and went back to staring at nothing next to the cabinet to the left of the oven. Bruce drank the rest of his coke and sat it down on the counter. "Besides. With this particular weakness, you get to share your life with someone." She quirked her lips a little. "Go talk to him, Nat."

"Okay."

"I'll see you soon."

"Thanks, Bruce."

"No sweat."

She sat for a second then called out, "Hey, Bruce, wait!"

He ducked his head around the corner, "Don't worry, Nat. I won't tell anyone. But I think only Cap doesn't know. And Thor." 

She looked at him a moment. ”He wanted to learn to dance so he could dance with his old girlfriend he left behind in 1945. She's in her 90s, and I was afraid he'd crush her with his super strength. I'd never hurt Clint."

He smiled. "I know. He does, too. He just has to remember it."

~*~

She walked down the stairs to his apartment a while later, but no lights were on and she didn't see him. 

"Clint?"

"What."

"I came to talk to you."

"Why? Doesn't matter."

She clicked on the lamp and saw him. He was sitting in an armchair, a bottle of Jack Daniels open beside him mostly empty and a half-empty tumbler with ice in his hand. She walked over and sat on the coffee table in front of him.

"It matters, Clint. You didn't see what you think you saw."

"No, I mean, it really doesn't matter. You're not mine. You never were."

Natasha was genuinely confused. "I don't understand."

"Fury called me into his office today. We're not married. Merry Christmas." He raised his glass in a mock toast. 

Natasha was stunned into silence, then tears gathered. "How can we not be married? He had us annulled? Why would he do that to us? I don't -"

"No, you don't get it. We were never married. Our wedding didn't count, apparently. It was a fraud."

Her head was ringing. "I was there. We said vows, we made promises, we signed papers, we kissed. We're married."

He leaned forward and wagged his finger. "Ah, the papers, you see. There's the crux of this moldy-ass biscuit. Apparently, you got married under an alias, and voided our marriage. So it didn't count. We're not married. You're not my wife. I'm not your husband. And you're free to slow dance with whoever you like."

"Now wait a second, Clint."

"No, you wait. I have the best goddamn vision on the planet. I saw what was happening, Nat. It was quite the romantic scene. Exactly what one wants to walk in on an hour after his world falls apart."

"He asked me to teach him to dance so he could go see his old girlfriend in the retirement home."

"Oh, _BULLSHIT_!” He stood up, threw the tumbler into the fireplace with incredible force and it exploded, glass shards falling like ice crystals all over the floor. Natasha uncovered her head to see that he had started pacing the floor in front of the mantle, ignoring the glass at his feet. "He wants you, Tasha! He wants my wife! Or my ex wife. Or my never wife. Fuck, I don't even know what you are."

"I'm your wife."

" _No you're NOT_.”

Natasha slipped back into her training. She betrayed no emotion, shut it all down. Inside she was wailing, screaming...but externally she was calm. Instinct took over.

"Yes, I am. I made vows, Clint. I intend to honor them."

He laughed without humor. "Some job you're doing there with that, Nat. Looked real honorable in Cap's arms."

"It happened exactly as I told you. You can trust me or not. But I love you, and would never hurt you." She stood up and turned to leave.

"You just did." 

She looked back at him, not knowing what to say. She walked to him and wrapped him in her arms. He didn't respond, but let her hold him. 

"I didn't mean to. I'm so sorry."

His voice was small. "We're not married, Nat. We’re not. I wanted to marry you." 

"You did."

"I tried, but I fucked it up." He wrapped his arms around her then, and they stood, holding each other in the semi-dark. 

"We can sort this out. Appeal to someone. Pull strings."

"Fury tried. He really did."

Natasha was dubious, but said nothing. "Well, then we'll just get remarried. And we'll do it up this time. Get Fury to give me away.” She smiled, trying to brighten him up, find a silver lining.

"We can't."

"Why not?"

"Because you would have to use Natalia Romanova to marry me. That's your real name. And the second you file that name anywhere..."

"The KGB will show up." Her stomach plummeted. She had had to renounce her name, but apparently it was still her legal name. There had to be away around this, she just didn’t know what it was. Why didn't Fury know?

"I can never marry you, Nat. I can't keep you safe and be your husband. I have to choose. I choose your safety over what I want."

Natasha stood silent, her arms wrapped around him, her head against his chest. All of her attempts to tamp down her emotions were failing her, she felt completely jumbled. So she just stood there, listening to his heartbeat, feeling the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, smelling his spicy-woodsy scent she loved so much. She realized she was wetting his shirt with tears. Finally, she said the only thought that made sense to her.

"I still feel married to you. I don't feel any different." He said nothing. "Do you feel differently about me because I'm not legally your wife?"

"I don't know what I feel right now. But I love you."

"I love you, too."

They held each other some more, Natasha trying to keep from staining his shirt more and failing. Clint not knowing what he felt about her...she couldn't imagine anything more heartbreaking coming from his mouth. He had always known how he felt about her - at least he seemed to. Oh God. What was happening to them?

Clint pushed away. "I have to go. I have to pack."

"Pack? Where are you going?"

"Texas, indefinitely. I have to infiltrate a drug ring. I don't know how long I'll be gone."

Natasha had to sit down. It was too much. It was all just too much.

"But...it's Christmas. Our first Christmas..."

He looked at her, his eyes forget-me-not blue and so, so sad. 

"Merry Christmas, sweetheart."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is an endgame to this. I swear.


	16. Attachments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha wrestles with the decision to allow emotions in her life. Clint is plagued with regret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been hurt  
> I've never been so hurt  
> Yes, and only you know why  
> But I would be far more hurt if we had to say good bye
> 
> When I think that it's all or nothing  
> I tell myself  
> True love does not demand fidelity  
> If there's one sacred place always in your heart for me  
> If my love could not withstand this jealousy  
> I'd remember the day I threw away our eternity
> 
> Has no plan, things will happen we don't understand  
> One day the glove is on the other hand  
> And when you think that it's all or nothing  
> Just tell yourself  
> If our love could not withstand this jealousy  
> We'd remember the day we threw away our eternity 
> 
> "Fidelity" ~ Todd Rundgren

December 25, 2012

Natasha hadn't ever had a family at Christmas, not really. She had spent all of her last few Christmases with Clint, watching their favorite movies and passing cartons of Chinese food back and forth between them. For the last few months she had expected the same, except this year they would be The Bartons. Maybe some of the guys would join them. That could be fun, but not really a family thing. When it was decided a few weeks ago to have a big family-style Christmas dinner, Natasha had been so excited she'd practically been vibrating. She bought a tree and lights, ornaments, decorations, and stockings for her and Clint. The others admired their stockings so much on the mantle that she bought them stockings, too. They were a team, right? 

Natasha was really trying to get into the spirit of things, to be Christmassy and domestic and still the Black Widow. It was a balance she was finding difficult, but Natasha thought she was managing okay. She was still top dog at S.H.I.E.L.D., without question. She was still top of all the aptitude and skill tests, still won almost every spar and was still the best interrogator. She had managed to make friends, something she had never been able to do for several reasons. But now she had, and they made her feel happy. She had acquired a beautiful home that she loved taking care of and decorating, surprising herself, and had a wonderful, happy marriage - even if they had to keep it a secret. Life was amazingly good for Natasha Romanov Barton.

Then it all went to hell. It had all just gone straight to hell in one moment. She still had the home, but she didn't give a shit. She washed her clothes, her dishes and herself. Fuck the rest. Her gift for Clint sat under the tree, waiting for a Christmas morning that meant nothing now. His gift to her was going to go into a closet, wrapped. If it started to smell, she'd throw it away. She just hoped it wasn't currently alive. She didn't turn on the Christmas lights after he left, she didn't see the point. He had made the holiday worth celebrating, and now he was gone.

She had the job, but she resented it so much that it made her physically ill to even think about the place sometimes. The place had been her salvation and ruination. She wanted to burn it to the ground and spit on Fury - the man to whom she was forever grateful that she was alive. She couldn't comprehend how she felt. Too many differing emotions...she had to make them stop.

The friends were there, and she tried to care, but she didn't. She didn't even want to look at Steve. He was hurt and confused until Bruce took him aside and explained. Then he tried to apologize and offered to find Clint and explain. Natasha still wouldn't speak to him, and Bruce just took him by the shoulders and led him away. 

Pepper came over with wine and was some comfort - she was female and had had a broken heart before, so she could relate on that level. Natasha hadn't confided in a female on a friendship level since Anya, so she was hesitant, but she figured if any woman in the world was safe from someone evil harming her the girlfriend of Iron Man would be, so she told Pepper the whole story. All of it. She and Clint getting married in Vegas, their marriage being phony, teaching Steve to dance, everything. And for the first time in her memory, she took comfort from someone other than Clint. When Pepper hugged her, she didn't recoil. She didn't let it last long, but she accepted it for what it was - sympathy from a friend.

It was too much. All of it. Entirely too much. The Red Room had been right; having emotional attachments made you weak. She was a fool to think that she could love someone and still be strong. She had let down her guard, and she couldn't let that happen again. She had to retrain herself to not love. To not feel. She had to, somehow. She could do it. Natasha Bart- ( _dammit. Got to stop thinking of yourself like that, Tasha_ ) Natasha Romanov could do anything. 

Christmas morning came, and Natasha did what she always did on Christmas. She sat on her couch and put on Raising Arizona. It was her and Clint's favorite movie, they quoted it to each other all the time. She felt sure that in the history of the world, no one else had ever sat on a couch on Christmas Day in a ragged Iowa t-shirt eating Chinese takeout and burst into sobs when the prisoner said, " _well, sometimes I get the menstrual cramps real hard_.” But she did burst into tears, because that line always made Clint laugh, and she missed the sound of his laugh. She had to turn it off before his other favorite line (" _naw, not unless round is funny_ “) because she was genuinely afraid that if she heard it, she would break down entirely and Jarvis may call for help, thinking she'd lost her mind. Why did she willingly sit down and watch their movies anyway? Eating their favorite food, wearing his shirt? Why'd she surround herself with him?

Because she missed him so much. So, so much. She didn't care how much it hurt, she loved him and wanted him. She'd take the pain if it came with him. 

She cried some more.

_Great job stifling those emotions there, champ. Keep up the great work._

"Ms. Romanov, Ms. Potts would like to remind you that dinner is in one hour in the communal dining area."

"Tell Pepper I'm not coming."

"Ms. Potts anticipated your answer, and asked me to inform you that if you don't come to Christmas dinner in one hour, she will have Mr. Stark put on the Mark IX and come drag you there. She also says to inform you that Christmas spirit is not required."

Natasha sighed. "Tell Pepper that I'm getting in the shower, and I loathe her a little right now."

"Yes ma'am, but I assure you, she won't care."

~*~

Natasha tried hard to be jovial and holly-jolly, but she wasn't fooling anyone. She had called on her training to be unemotional while pretending to care, but there was a problem with this - the same problem she faced and that broke her when Clint saved her and brought her to S.H.I.E.L.D. It was a very simple thing to turn your emotions off to people who would cut you in a heartbeat. It was much, much more difficult to turn them off to people who cared about you, genuinely cared. It's how Clint broke through her walls seven years before - he gave a damn. And, dammit, these people gave a damn about her, too. Her pretense was failing miserably. 

They all knew she and Clint were an item, had had a fight over Steve, and then Clint left for a mission indefinitely. Steve was agonizing, thinking he was to blame, but he had been staying away on Bruce's advice. Pepper greeted her at the door and gave her a quick, genuine hug then went scurrying off to check something about dinner. Natasha came inside and nodded to the guys, grabbing a glass of wine and heading over there with them. 

"Hey, fellas."

Three greetings, one very subdued.

"Steve, this isn't your fault."

"Feels like it."

"No, there were other mitigating circumstances. Had it just been the dance lesson, he'd have huffed for ten minutes or so and been fine. We're pretty solid." _Or we were._ She willed herself not to tear up. "You just got caught in a bad crossfire, and I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry it happened at all, Nat. I hate seeing you sad." 

She smiled and Bruce side-hugged her. "We're going to feed her and get some Christmas spirit in her. Maybe some wine."

"Make it vodka.”

~*~

Natasha had never had a better meal in her life. Everything was delicious, and she had never had most of the foods presented. She still wasn't familiar with a lot of traditional American foods, even after being here for seven years, so things like ‘corn pudding’, ‘candied yams’ and ‘string bean casserole’ were a novelty to her. But oh, they were so delicious. 

She had actually had some fun tonight. She had laughed with her friends, popped crackers that gave her a silly paper crown and toy, and even joked a little at Tony's expense. But it was late, and time to go home. 

The elevator opened on her floor and she walked to the door, Jarvis opening it for her. She walked in and realized all at once just how big and empty her home was. It was huge. It never seemed that big when Clint was there, or empty at all. It was like he and the love they had shared filled the rooms, but now that was gone and she was overwhelmed by the emptiness. There was no one there but her. She didn't want anyone there but Clint. Her kind-of husband. The husband she wanted but could never have, who would never have her. The husband who said he didn't know how he felt, but he loved her.

She sank to her knees on the cold tile of her dark, empty kitchen, sobbing. She had had everything. Everything. This poor Russian girl had had the American dream...and a legality had taken all of it away. 

She lay on the floor a long time. She had stopped believing in God after the Red Room had been beating her and teaching her the best way to kill people for a year. She didn't see how could God could let a child go through that, so she stopped believing. But that Christmas night, lying on that hard floor, she prayed. She had always heard that God would give you everything you need, and all she needed was Clint. So she prayed for Clint. 

~*~

Mid-March 2013

Clint reached across the sleeping woman to the cigarettes on the bedside table, trying desperately not to wake her up. He hated smoking. It was a terrible habit and he felt awful when he did it, but everyone in this ring smoked - hell, there weren't many clean-living drug dealers - so Clint picked it up. He'd have to buy some patches when he got home.

Home. God, he couldn't wait to get home. He missed everything about it, but he missed Natasha so much he physically ached. He was deep cover, he couldn't make contact with anyone, and it was killing him. He had thought a thousand times about faking a grandmother dying so he could fly back to New York and just look at her. She could hate his guts, and he would deserve it, but he just wanted to see her face. Those green eyes and the way they twinkled a little when she was laughing at one of his bad jokes. That smile she saved just for him. What he wouldn't give to run his fingers down the curve of her neck, feeling the pulse of the heart he loved so much, grazing his knuckles across her shoulders, and down her body, feeling how her skin felt like satin over a pillow. 

He shook his head. He had to stop. She more than likely hated him, and with good reason. And if she didn't before, she would now.

"Hey, baby."

 _Fuck._ He had hoped she would stay asleep and leave him the fuck alone.

She was the drug czar's daughter, and she'd been his way in. He'd gotten almost everything he needed, but he'd had to sleep with this 22-year-old cokehead to get it. He felt dirty, low, like a piece of shit. Like a man who had cheated on his wife. In his 20's or early 30's he'd have seen this as a perk to his job. She'd have been just a piece of ass. Now - _Christ._ He wanted his Natasha, not this little trick. Touching her made him squirm, he struggled to get it up. It had taken a great deal of creative fantasizing on his part while fucking this girl to be able to finish. He’d finally taken to faking orgasms and disposing of empty condoms quickly just to get it over with. He wanted nothing to do with her, she couldn't get enough of him. He hated himself. He _loathed_ himself. He didn't like to look in the mirror.

Clint shook himself mentally and reminded himself that he was playing a part. That this was for the good of millions of people and he could do it.

"'Mornin' doll. Sorry I woke you up." The endearment was forced, she was far from a doll. It was the best he could do. He refused to call her 'sweetheart'. He had one sweetheart, and she by-god wasn't it. 

"Oh, it's okay. You can make it up to me."

She reached around to grab his cock and stuck her tongue in his ear. He shuddered before he could repress it and hoped she mistook it as a pleasure thing. He swallowed the bile in his throat and said, "Sounds good, doll."

~*~

 

Natasha was in the main gym working out on the heavy bags with Steve when Tony came in. "Hey, Nat, you got a sec?"

"Sure." She had a small alarm bell going off in her head. He had both hands in his pockets with his arms straight, and was turning his entire body to look around the room. Occasionally he'd reach up to touch his mouth with one hand, but then his fists went back into his pockets. These were not "jovial Tony" signs.

"So, I just got a call from Director Fury."

"Yeah?"

"They've got Hawkeye."

Natasha felt weak. "Where is he?"

"He's in transport. They're bringing him here. He, uh..."

"Tell me, Tony!"

"The drug gang he infiltrated was raided by another gang, and Clint got shot. It's not life-threatening, but he's in rough shape."

Natasha felt like falling into a ball on the ground, but held on. She clutched her throat, but didn't allow herself any further panic.

"What are you not telling me?"

Tony looked away. ”I’m not holding…”

"Bullshit, Tony. I'm the best interrogator S.H.I.E.L.D. has for a reason. You're hiding something. Spit it out. _Now._ ”

Tony hung his head, then sighed and looked at her. "He was brought to the ER by someone claiming to be his girlfriend."

~*~

Natasha sat by Clint's bed, holding his hand and waiting for him to wake up. The doctors said that they'd sedated him for transport but he should regain consciousness soon. She wanted to be the first face he saw.

Oh, Clint. Her husb- her Clint. She loved him so much. It was torment watching him lie in the bed, bandaged and sedated. She bent to kiss his hand.

A girlfriend? That had to be a mistake. Or a misunderstanding. Or a cover. She just couldn't make sense of Clint having a girlfriend on an op. There had to be a perfectly good explanation for this. And if there was a real girlfriend, the bitch was dead. But she was going to let Clint tell her about it first. He wouldn't lie to her. She’d know.

She bent and kissed his fingers again and put her forehead on the back of his hand, crying quietly. She felt weak, small. She didn’t care. He was home, and was going to be okay. If he didn’t want her, she would survive. He was going to survive, that was the important thing here. She stroked his hand with her fingers as tears dropped onto his skin and wondered why they kept fucking up at love.

"Tasha? That you, sweetheart?"

She looked up. He was looking at her, his blue eyes bleary, tired, a bit confused, but surprised and happy. 

He beamed. "It's you."

She kissed his hand again. "Of course it's me."

"You're wearing my necklace."

She was a little surprised. That was the first thing he was worried about? "Well, yes. I've never taken it off."

He looked at her as if trying to make sense of what she'd just said, then, "I love you so much, Nat. So goddamn much."

"Shhhh. I love you too. Shhhhh.” Her heart fluttered and she was glad she was sitting down. She stroked his hand.

"Where am I?"

"You're home, baby. You got shot, and they brought you home."

"What's wrong with me?"

"Perforated bowel. They operated in Dallas, got you stabilized, and S.H.I.E.L.D. flew you straight here."

"My target?"

"Dead. A rival gang raided and killed almost everyone." She paused. "Your girlfriend brought you in."

"She's not my girlfriend, she was my ticket to the target. I hated her. I hate myself. I'm so sorry, Tasha, sweetheart, I love you, I didn't want to touch her. She made me sick, please believe me..."

"Shhhh....hush, baby, or they'll make me leave."

"Do you forgive me?"

She agonized for a moment. The thought of him holding, kissing, making love to someone else was more than she could bear. Then she looked in his eyes, those completely readable eyes, and knew. He looked miserable, and she remembered that he had believed that she was sleeping with targets for years on ops, and said nothing. She had been automatically forgiven, while he suffered with that knowledge in silence. Loki had taunted him with it, nearly drove him mad with it. She couldn't let him suffer like this while she held it over his head.

She smiled and kissed his hand. ”There's nothing to forgive."

"Will you stay with me?"

"I'm not leaving you, Clint. I love you."

"Good. Stay with me, Nat, always. I need you. Be with me forever. God, I love you Nat."

She stood up and kissed him lightly on the lips, one tear falling on his cheek. She wiped it away with her thumb, saying, "I love you, too, Clint, and I'm not going anywhere. Now sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I find it fascinating that there is a "jealous Clint" tag, but not a "jealous Natasha" tag. I think people underestimate her.


	17. Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past comes back in unexpected ways.

Spring, 2013

Clint Barton could be described as many, many things. One thing he could not ever be called, however, was "good patient." As soon as he was thoroughly awake, he started demanding to go home. The doctors insisted he had to be closely monitored a while longer, at least five days and that he would not be well for a long while. Forty-eight hours later, Natasha busted him out and took him upstairs to their apartment. It didn't make any difference, really, medical just came to him now, but mentally he felt better. The doctor threw up his hands and said if it helped, then he'd go along with it. 

Natasha did everything she could to make him comfortable. She wasn't a nurse, but she had cared for him when he was injured enough to know what he liked and what he didn't. She made his favorite foods and brought them to him in the recliner, she helped him get around, she played along when he downplayed his injury and pain in front of other people. But the truth was that a GSW to the gut is a serious injury, a perforated bowel is a big damn deal, and abdominal surgery is hard to get over. So she babied him...while no one was around.

He insisted on sleeping in their bed, so she walked him him in there with his arm thrown across her shoulders, supporting his weight and laid him down, propping pillows and making him comfortable. He seemed to relax a bit, then he said, "Now, you. Come here."

"Why?"

"I need to hold you."

She shook her head. ”I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't, sweetheart. And even if you ripped me wide open, it would be worth it. It's been months. Please, I need to hold you.” She hesitated, debating. “Please, Tasha.”

Natasha relied on her training as a spy to crawl on the bed as gingerly as possible, so she wouldn't jostle him. She made her way next to him, slid in beside him into his arm delicately, and lay her head softly on his shoulder.

He turned and kissed her head. "I'd forgotten how good you smell." She put her hand on his chest over his heart and counted the beats, grateful for every one. Closing her eyes, she thought back to her prayer on Christmas night and thanked God for giving him back.

"Tasha?"

"Hmm?" 

"I never stopped thinking of you as my wife. I can't turn that off, and I don't want to."

She kept silent, not knowing what to say, or how to say it if she did say something. She was afraid she'd cry if she did...all the agony of the last four months, not knowing, trying to turn off her feelings, trying to convince herself that she wasn't his wife...

She was apparently silent too long, because he spoke again. "Tasha?"

"Yeah?"

"If I could figure out a way, would you consider marrying me again?"

The tears started, and she couldn't hold them back this time. She didn't say anything, then he heard her sniffing and his shirt getting wet.

"Oh, sweetheart, don't cry. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked."

"No, it's not that. It's just...it's relief. I was so afraid. When you left you said you didn't know how you felt, I didn't know what you meant. I thought maybe you were feeling like the whole thing had been a mistake. But when you’re asking me to do it all over…now I know what you meant. Or at least what you didn't mean." She felt him relax and sat up to look at him with red-rimmed eyes. "I'll marry you again, but you have to ask me again, somewhere other than in bed."

He smiled at her. "Fair enough."

She kissed him and snuggled gently back into his arms.

~*~

Clint had been at home for a week and was still moving slowly, but getting around with less and less help. He wanted Natasha as close as possible all the time; he told her he had four months and being a dick to make up for. She said that being a dick was completely forgiven, but she did want that time they lost that they could have been holding, touching, kissing each other back - at least a little.

The guys all stopped in regularly, shooting the breeze or watching baseball with Clint for a while - keeping him occupied so he didn't lose his mind from being confined to the apartment. Bruce was the most frequent guest and while Clint really liked him, he recognized that the real bond there was between Bruce and Nat. He was glad for it, Natasha seemed relaxed and comfortable talking to Bruce.

Steve came down to visit rather often, and on his very first visit, apologized profusely for the dance lesson incident. Clint assured Cap that he held no ill will, they shook on it, and watched a game. But Clint, the Hawkeye, didn't miss the way Steve's eyes sometimes followed Natasha out of the room, or how he looked her up and down occasionally, or how when he thought no one was looking, he looked at her with something like...hunger? longing? Clint didn't know exactly, but he knew he wasn't comfortable with it. Natasha seemed oblivious. Part of him wanted so badly to say something to her about it, but he wouldn't. The way they had parted in December and the misery of four months was too fresh and raw for both of them. To point out Steve's looking at her and his insecurities about it would be risking an argument that could damage their relationship, and he refused to do that. Not after what they had just gone through... so he swallowed it, ignored it, pretended it wasn't there. He told himself that he had no reason to worry about Natasha. She had married him once and wanted to do it again. Even after he walked out on her the way he did, having said the things he did, she wore his mark and kept true to him all the time he was gone. She was confused when he was surprised by that, which was a testament to her faithfulness to him. 

No, he didn't need to worry about his Nat. But he was going to keep an eye on the Cap.

~*~

 

Clint had been home three weeks and was much better. Natasha was relieved, she had worried endlessly over him. She knew how serious his injury had been and regretted busting him out of the hospital almost immediately after she did it, but she had done her best to take care of him. The medical staff had checked in on him a couple of times a day and given her instructions, and he seemed to have done okay. He certainly wasn't ready to get back to training like he normally did, but he had improved a huge deal. He was motivated - he hated being stationary. 

But a shot to the gut like that...Clint shouldn't have survived and only quick, correct action had saved him. Natasha had pondered before while watching Clint sleep; were she ever confronted with the woman Clint slept with that rushed him to the ER, would she grab her and hug her, crying out her thanks? Or cleanly snap her neck? It was honestly a tossup. But no matter what, she was so, so grateful to have her Clint back. It had been almost a month, but she didn't think it would ever be long enough to erase the memory of those four months.

Clint was in the den, watching a baseball game with Bruce and Steve. Steve never seemed to really get over just how different baseball was now as opposed to when he went under. Tony and Pepper were in Malibu at their home there, so the four of them were the only ones left. She was curled in the recliner, half watching and half dozing, when Jarvis spoke up. "Ms. Romanov, Mr. Barton, Director Fury and Maria Hill are requesting entry. They have a guest with them they want to bring as well."

Clint muted the TV. "Who is the guest?"

"I do not know, sir, I am unable to tell."

"Scan them for weapons."

"Director Fury and Ms. Hill are both armed. The guest is not."

Clint looked at Natasha. She nodded, and he said "send them up." Natasha fetched a couple of guns, checking the usual weapons already in strategic locations. 

Jarvis: "Ma'am, sir, they are at the door."

Natasha turned to the men. "Stay here. I'm the fastest. You guys saw where I hid the weapons, but they're a last resort, I don't think there's danger here. Bruce, no matter what happens, _stay calm_. If you lose it, you could hurt us. Okay?”

Bruce nodded. They all sat, tense and waiting. 

Natasha went to the door with a glock in her waistband, ready to fire in a moment. "Director? Maria?"

Fury didn't mince words. "Who's here?"

"Why? Who did you bring?"

"Who is here, Romanov?"

"Me, Barton, Rogers and Banner."

"Good. Take me to them. I have a surprise. Come on."

She directed them towards the den, careful not to give them her back. Once there, the trio of Fury, Hill and the stranger stood in the center of the room, in front of the fireplace. The stranger was wearing a hooded jacket, with the hood pulled low. 

Clint asked, "Director? Who have you brought into my home, and why?"

Fury held up a hand. "First, I want to say this - I know this is going to be a huge shock. Please try not to overreact." He looked at Bruce, who looked edgy.

Steve was looking aggressive. "Spit it out, Director. What's going on?"

Fury raised his hand to the stranger and said, "Phil?"

Clint made a sound between a cry and a groan.

The stranger reached up and pulled back his hood. 

Natasha felt behind her for the arm of the chair, needing to sit. 

Phil Coulson was standing in her living room.

~*~

" _YOU SON OF A BITCH!_ “ 

"Barton, I can explain..." 

Clint was on his feet, bellowing. Phil was standing his ground, but with his hands raised in a 'surrender' pose. Natasha's head was reeling, but her immediate concern was Clint hurting himself.

"Clint, baby, please..."

" _NO! I THOUGHT I HAD KILLED YOU!_ “

"Loki killed me..."

"Clint, you're going to hurt yourself...please baby..."

"He haunted my _DREAMS_ with you! He called me a fucking murderer! I did time _in my own goddamn mind_ for a crime I didn't fucking commit! I tortured _MYSELF! GODDAMN!_ “

Clint swept all of the food, drinks, chips and magazines off of the coffee table and stormed off, clutching his abdomen as they flew and crashed to the ground.

"Agent Barton-"

"No. You leave him be." Natasha was on her feet now, taking an aggressive stance. "Fury, you knew Clint was hurt, and you knew Loki tortured him about Coulson. Did you really think walking him in here wasn't going to reopen a wound - literally and figuratively? Jesus, do you just _like_ fucking with us? You wreck our happiness over an alias, now _this_?”

She turned on her heel and ran to check on Clint. Coulson looked at Fury and said "What's this about an alias?"

Fury dismissed him. "Tell you later."

Bruce spoke up. "Okay, fellas. Now that you've thoroughly offended our hosts, would you like to explain what's going on here? Or did you just potentially injure my buddy and make my dear friend cry for kicks?"

Fury looked at them. "We may need the Avengers."

Steve had gone from looking aggressive to dangerous. "For what?" 

"At ease, soldier."

"Don't patronize me. And as of right this moment, you only have two Avengers, and this one isn't all that inclined to help you. I'm sick of the lies, Fury. Tell the truth. Why is he alive?"

"Loki did stab and kill me," Coulson said. "But S.H.I.E.L.D. has this new serum they had been working on, a Lazarus serum. Fury ordered it used on me. It worked."

"Why did you take so long to come forward, at least to Barton, when you knew he was having such terrible guilt?"

"I had to stay undercover." 

"Why are you here now?" Natasha was back, and angry.

"How is Hawkeye?" 

"Don't worry about him, I'm taking care of him. Why are you here?"

"We may need the Avengers. Tony Stark has caught the attention of..."

"Yes, we saw the crazy terrorist. But Tony was explicit when he said to stay here unless he ordered us to leave."

Maria Hill spoke up, "We're here to tell you to leave."

"You can fuck off." 

Steve let out a gasp - “Natasha!" - but she was beyond caring. 

"You brought a dead man in our home, jeopardizing my...man's health, and tell us to get out? This after what you did to us over my name? No, you can just go to hell!"

"Natasha, we have reason to believe that the terrorist Mandarin is targeting Stark and bent on destroying everything he owns. You have to leave."

She scowled, but not before fear crossed her features.

Steve asked, "Where are you taking us?"

"Back to S.H.I.E.L.D. You'll be safe there."

Bruce snorted. "Ah, yes. Somewhere I can be contained easily."

"No, Dr. Banner, somewhere you can be protected."

"You still haven't told me why you brought Agent Coulson into my home." Natasha had her arms crossed and was staring at Fury with hatred. "You have no idea how Loki has tormented him at night."

"Agent Romanov, which ghost are you angry about here? Phil? Or a girl from Russia? Because I suspect despite your anger at his presentation, you're very relieved to see Agent Coulson."

She stood, arms crossed, eyes watery, standing off against Fury. Seconds ticked by, a full minute. Natasha broke. She walked over to Phil Coulson and hugged him. "I cried for you."

He hugged her briefly and stepped back. "I know, I'm deeply touched. I'm sorry I hurt you. And Barton."

"Give him a bit of time. He's shocked, but he'll be relieved soon."

"I'm still fucking pissed as hell, though." 

Clint walked slowly over to Phil and shook his hand. "I'm so sorry..."

"It wasn't your fault, Barton. It never was."

Fury interrupted. "We have to go. That's why we're here: Coulson has the intel, he can debrief you. Pack essentials, we leave for HQ in twenty minutes."

"We're going to need medical on hand."

"No we're not."

"Shut up, Clint."

"You can have whatever you need."

Bruce and Steve stood up to go. "Well, I suppose we'll be back in fifteen."

~*~  


May, 2013

Steve was headed to the sparring gym at S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ. It was late, he knew nobody would be there, but he didn't sleep much anyway and wanted to work out a little on the heavy bag. There weren't many things that hadn't changed since he'd gone under, but hitting a punching bag was one.

There was loud music coming from the gym. He hadn't expected anyone to be there and he didn't want to interrupt, but this wasn't typical workout music - or at least, what he was told was typical music people worked out to. It was melodic, but very angry. His curiosity was piqued, and he went for a better look. 

_Why this lonely, why this lonely, why this lonely love?_

Steve started to hear the sounds of impact, and a female grunting with exertion.

_Tell me, are you satisfied with fucking?  
Don't walk away, don't walk away, don't walk away I'm talking to you_

Steve got to the gym and paused in the door. It was Natasha, and she was sparring with a dummy, but unlike any sparring he had ever seen with a dummy. She was hand springing and spinning her legs to wrap her legs around the dummy's head, then spinning herself off and landing lightly on her feet. She was jumping up, kicking the dummy in the chest with both feet, landing on her back on the ground, then jumping to her feet in attack position. And she was doing all of it in time with the music. He was entranced, watching her.

The song ended and she spoke up. "Having fun, Cap?" She turned and wiped her face, across he brows and under her eyes. He noted her cheeks were wet and wondered if she had been crying.

"I've just never seen anyone fight and dance at the same time."

"Fighting is quite a bit like dance. It's why I'm a trained ballerina."

"That didn't sound like any ballet music I've ever heard."

She snorted. "No, they're not exactly using Dave Matthews Band in a lot of pointe classes. But I've found that different types of music with different rhythms have come in handy when I'm training - and fighting. It's not all hard rock, hip hop or classical.”

"You listen to music when you're fighting?"

"No, of course not. But sometimes a song pops in my head and the training I've done to that song takes over. It's not choreographed or anything, but something will trip that memory and," she shrugged, "suddenly, there's a song to fight to in my head. Different assailants move at different paces and with different rhythms. It’s nice to be able to match those rhythms and paces to a song in my head and, well, dance, I suppose.”

"Are they all angry? The songs in your head?”

"No, no, not all of them. But it helps. It gets me motivated. The words to the song don't matter much, although I like them. The important part is the melody, rhythm and tone.”

"Would you like to spar?" Steve blurted it out before he thought and had no idea why he asked such a thing. It was ludicrous; there were very few people in the world who could beat him in hand-to-hand combat, but the Black Widow was almost certainly one of them. She looked hesitant, and reached up to finger her necklace. He doubted she even realized she was doing it. "It's okay if you don't. I just know it's been a long time since you worked out. A month and a half or so since Hawkeye came home, right?"

“It has been. But I don’t think -” 

Steve took a tiny step forward and interrupted. "You know, I heard what that song was about. If you're having problems, any kind of problems, you can come to me."

"I'm not-"

"There you are! I wondered where you had got off to when I woke up."

Clint came across the gym smiling, and Steve took a step backwards. Natasha looked back and forth between the two, waiting. When nothing happened: "I couldn't sleep, I was too tense after…everything that’s happened, and moving back here, and worrying about Tony...I wanted to work off some stress and maybe get sleepy."

Clint put his arm around her waist and kissed her temple. "Come on back to bed, sweetheart. I'll rub your back until you relax." Clint looked at Steve, communicating clearly. _Back off._

Steve looked back at him steadily, face smooth and unafraid.

Natasha smiled at Clint, "That sounds good."

She smiled at Steve. "Goodnight, Steve." She started out of the gym.

"'Night, Nat. Remember, you can call on me if you need to." Natasha nodded without looking back. Clint glanced over his shoulder, then put his arm around Natasha's waist. Steve sighed, wondering how how badly he had just screwed up.

Natasha waited until they got back to their tiny apartment before she turned to him. "Clint -"

"Nat, I'm not upset with you. I saw what happened, and I'm not upset. Okay? I know you're on the up-and-up." He kissed her. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her in, close to him, kissing her deeply. "It occurs to me that I owe you a backrub."

~*~

November, 2013

Natasha had just gotten back home to the Tower from a three-week mission and slept for twenty four hours. When she finally crawled out of bed, Clint had made a terrific breakfast, along with her favorite dark-roast coffee. They ate, chatting about the mission, gossip from around the tower and other small talk.

"You know, the holidays are coming."

She smiled, a small, slightly sad smile. "I know."

"I asked for the week of Thanksgiving and the week of Christmas off, for both of us."

She looked up. "No shit?"

"No shit. We're going to be together this year for the holidays if it kills us."

She jumped up and ran around the table to sit in his lap. "Thank you so much. I just can't tell you...I don't know how to thank you."

He kissed her. "Want to go back to bed for a bit? I’d be grateful as hell for that.”

She grinned. "Absolutely."

He scooped her up and started towards the bedroom.

Jarvis: "Mr. Barton, Ms. Romanov? You have a guest."

"We're busy, Jarvis."

"Sir, I think you'll want to see this guest.”

“Probably not.”

"Who is it?”, asked Natasha.

"The body and chemical signature are the same as the unnamed guest you had in April, sir."

They looked at each other for a minute, then Clint set Natasha on her feet. ”Send him up."

Natasha kissed Clint quickly, he held her close for a moment. "Later?"

She smiled. "I'll beat you if you back out."

He grinned, kissed her again, leaving her rumpled. Jarvis announced the visitor at the door. 

"Hold that thought."

Clint ran to the door and opened it, letting the hooded man in and closing the door behind him. "Coulson?" The man dropped his hood. 

"Yes, it's me. Have you two got a minute?"

"Yeah, sure. Come on in and sit down."

He led Coulson into the living room. Natasha walked in at the same time from the kitchen, carrying a drink. "Hi, Sir, what's going on? Would you like something to drink?”

“No thank you. And I’m here because I have good news for you, but I need to be brief. Director Fury told me about your marriage, and the problem you ran into with your name."

Natasha froze. Clint looked at her quickly then back to Coulson. "What kind of good news do you have?"

"I can erase Natalia Alianovna Romanova. I can make it so she never existed on paper, and all that's left is Natasha Romanov."

Natasha sat down hard on the couch. Clint down beside her and took her hand. "How?"

"I have a friend in the Russian government who owes me several large favors. Very large favors. I feel as if I should make up to you not letting you know I was alive for a year, and I was hoping this may help to make amends in some small way."

Natasha buried her face in her hands. This would be so much more than being able to marry Clint. This would be erasing what she used to be, cutting off the last tie to her first life, the miserable existence she knew before he saved her. This would be the end of the Mother Country's hold on her, symbolically. She wouldn't be Russian anymore. At all. Freedom from her past, from the KGB, forever. Natalia would, at long last, be dead.

She looked up at Coulson. "You would do that for me?"

He smiled at her. "I've already made the necessary calls. He told me that it would take a little while to be complete because he has to be covert and thorough, but he thinks he can have it done within six months." Natasha put her head back down in her hands. Clint put his arm around her and Coulson smiled again. "Agents, you will most likely be able to have a summer wedding. I'd start planning. And I expect an invitation.”


	18. Ante-Winter Soldier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Winter Soldier, as applies to Clintasha.

Early April, 2014

Natasha walked into the shooting range, hearing the familiar woosh-thud. He was there, as he usually was when he was home and had free time. She crossed her arms and leaned back against the wall, watching him. She loved to watch him shoot, she could watch him at work for hours. _Good Lord. He is so perfect._ His legs spread the perfect width, his stance perfect. Every line of his body was graceful but firm, and exactly where it needed to be to make the perfect shot. His fingers wrapped tightly around the bow, arm extended in front ( _his arms, God his arms are so sexy_ ), his fingers pulling the string back to his mouth, his lips pursed slightly in concentration and the tiniest hint of a cocky little smile of satisfaction, his eyes the sky blue they always were when he had the quiver on. He was never more serene than when he had his bow in his hand, shooting. She thought he was the sexiest thing she had ever seen when he was in his element like this. 

She still couldn't believe that he was hers. After all this time, she still had to shake herself sometimes when she woke up next to him. Occasionally, she would roll over in the morning and watch him sleep for just a moment, his face crushed into the pillow and his hair sticking up in all directions (not artfully like he usually did it), thinking about the history she’d made with this man - the new history she had. How different her life would have been if he hadn’t rescued her by abducting her. How miserable she would be if she hadn’t been compromised. Natasha Romanov just didn't get that lucky...but she had.

"Hey, sweetheart," he said, breaking her from her reverie without looking her way. The fact that he could see things without looking at them never ceased to amaze her. The targets popped up everywhere, fast, bobbing and weaving this way and that, but he didn't miss a single one. They all dropped with an arrow dead center of the bullseye. She watched him, giving him his secret smile even if he couldn't see it. Knowing him, though, he probably could.

"Didn't I tell you I'd kick your ass if you ever called me that in public again?"

Clint said, "stop simulation," and turned to walk towards her, a mischievous smile on his face. She took a few steps his way, still smiling the Clint-only smile, and when they met he grabbed her around the waist by one arm, pulled her flush against him and kissed her thoroughly before grinning wickedly.

"Is that a promise, sweetheart?"

"Asshole."

"You love me."

"Damned right. But you're still an asshole."

He laughed and bent down for a quick, chaste kiss before releasing her to go gather his things. "Hey, there's a new Chinese restaurant downtown. It’s supposed to be really nice. Would you want to go tonight?"

"I can't. That's what I came here to tell you; I'm on my way to pick up Cap, we've got to do an extraction. I'm going to be out for a couple of days." 

Clint zipped his bag with a bit more force than necessary and walked back over to her. "Why Rogers?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why would Fury send you on a mission with Rogers? Why not me?"

"I don't know. Different skill set? You know as well as I do Fury has his own reasons for things."

Clint's brows were knitting, and his body language was getting aggressive. Natasha circled her arms around his waist. "Clint, really. Come on. You can trust me."

"It's not you I'm worried about."

"Clint..."

"What? You know as well as I do he has a thing for you."

"He doesn't."

"I've seen him look at you, Nat. He wants you."

"I'm telling you, he doesn't." She released his waist and stepped back. Natasha was getting pissed, and Clint was reading the warning signs. He didn't much care. "I've spent a lot of time in my life around men who wanted to fuck me. Trust me, Cap doesn't."

"I'm a man. I know that look. He wants to fuck you."

"I'm a woman, and I don't want to fuck him. So that's the end of the discussion. With you or him. I decide who I sleep with, and it's not Steve Rogers."

"Fine. I'm headed to Idaho for a surveillance in the morning, so I won't be around." He slung his bag over his shoulder and turned to leave. "Be careful."

"Clint, wait. Wait, dammit!"

He turned around. "What." 

"Maybe you don't remember what happened the last time we parted on bad terms, but I do. Don't leave it like this. Please." 

He searched her face for a while, his blue eyes stormy. Then he sighed, cupped her face and kissed her softly. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him close. 

"I love you, Clint Barton."

"I love you, too. Take care of yourself." 

"I always do."

"Nat?"

"Yeah?"

"I'll kill him if he puts his hands on you. He needs to find his own woman and leave mine the fuck alone."

~*~

When the Avengers realized that Nick Fury was keeping a tremendous amount of information from them, they met and decided upon a plan of action in case they should ever have to hide anything from S.H.I.E.L.D. or anyone else. Part of this plan was a code. The code language itself was simple and would be easily broken by any code breaker, but was only meant to be a stumbling block to buy some time, not a wall. Thus far it had never been tested for either purpose. They didn't really trust Fury, but they hadn't really had any issues with him since Coulson rose from the dead and they'd decided on the code and various other measures. So far, they'd just practiced with it over dinners, during movies, and whenever they were together - just in case the time came and it was needed.

Tony Stark was in his workshop at Avengers Tower tinkering on an idea he knew was doomed to fail. He didn't typically surrender to failure, but he'd come at this one from every angle he could think of and he was all but certain it was a no-go. He'd given it over to Banner to work with, and Bruce had come up with the same conclusion. The idea was spectacular, but there wasn't a way to make it work just yet. Tony's best course of action right now would be to put it down, ignore it for a while and wait for the answer to come to him out of the blue, but he fucking hated to do that. Until that moment of inspiration and solution, he felt like a failure, and Tony Stark didn't handle failure well.

Jarvis interrupted his thoughts. "Sir, you have a call."

"I'm busy, Jarvis."

"Sir, this call came in to line 27."

Tony went very still. Only six people had that number, all superheroes, all connected to this one line, and it was only to be used in the event of serious emergency. That line ringing was bad news.

"Who?"

"Ms. Romanov."

"Put her through."

The phone rang once, not even completing the ring before Tony snatched it up.

"Yeah."

"Tony?" 

"Yeah."

"Grandma went into town and the books need to go back to the library. Have you got change for the peddler and driver?"  
 _Fury is dead. S.H.I.E.L.D. has been compromised. Bruce, Thor and Clint with you?_

"I've given the driver some change but haven't seen the peddler."  
 _Bruce and Thor are here, Clint is not._

"It would be great if the peddler could visit Babel before September."  
 _Get Hawkeye back to Stark Tower immediately, this is an emergency._

"I'll call around and see if I can't get him on a train."  
 _I'll handle it personally._

"Thank you."

"Do Sirius and Fred need to be fed or taken for a walk?"  
 _Are you and Steve safe? Do you need us?_

"No. Just keep them in the house and feed them some salmon. They've got toys."  
 _No. Stay where you are, it's not safe. We have a friend here._

"I don't know that I agree with that. Most cats-"

"Not these cats. Just trust me on this one, okay, Tony?"

"Ok."

"Please just check on those tickets. Right now."

"I'm on it."

"Thank you. Gotta go."

"Natasha?"

The line was dead.

~*~

It wasn't something he could say very often, but he loved assignments like this. He was lying on a hilltop in Idaho, concealed, watching a NeoNazi compound below. It was isolated, quiet. Decades of work as a sniper had trained him to be silent and observe, which he did. It was worlds away from the constant din, whirling colors and sensory overload of his childhood and youth. Still, he was grateful for that noise and confusion - it trained him to focus on making the shot no matter his surroundings. When you could hit bullseye after bullseye without fail with people whooping and hollering, with clowns flipping all over the place and trapeze artists flying over your head, you'd mastered your external surroundings. No, the problem he had now was the raging argument inside his head. 

Goddamn, that woman had destroyed him. As far as anyone who didn't know him well knew, he was as badass as he'd ever been; and Clint Barton had been the Baddest of the Fucking Badasses. But from the moment nine years ago that that woman in the white dress crossed her legs, tossed her hair, smirked and said, "thanks for dinner" to a man who was about to kill her, he'd been fucked six ways from Sunday. With those three little gestures and three little words, she'd started burrowing into his mind and heart until she consumed him. He could be his old self as long as she wasn't around, but as soon as she was involved in any way, Clint Barton: Badass Archer, Assassin and Spy turned into Clint Barton: Lovesick Teenager. And you know, that would have made sense for the time when he was pining for her and thought he'd never have her. Or the first year or so they were together. But they'd been a couple for four and a half years, for God's sake. Shouldn't that have dimmed a little by now? Because it hadn't. It had actually gotten more intense; he was more silly over her now than before. He tried hard to keep it hidden from colleagues and everyone but their absolute closest friends...but it was hard to hide. He had a chink in his armor you could drive a truck through. She was his weakness. He was a man in love. She made him crazy. 

He was also a jealous man, which surprised him about himself. This thing with Cap - cognitively he knew he didn't have to worry at all. But the insecurity because Natasha was so beautiful, so young, so perfect...it was too much sometimes. And when someone like Steve, America's stud-muffin, made eyes at her, well, he went and did something stupid. Like threaten the life of a goddamn superhero.

Clint sighed. This is why he had avoided love, sticking to fucking for fun...until Natasha. But he was way, way past that now. He'd had a ring in his pocket when they'd argued, since Coulson had called him two days before saying Natalia Romanova was dead. _Stupid Captain America_.

Still, though, when he could shut down the bullshit in his head, he appreciated the hell out of the quiet and assignments like this. He gathered information, always poised to strike. But no threats seemed imminent, save one snake he'd had to shoo away. If these guys were planning anything, they weren't doing it overtly. No weapons were being stockpiled that he could see. 

On the third day of his stakeout, he heard a noise in the distance that sounded like a helicopter landing. He tensed immediately, still low but poised to fight if need be. He listened, but heard nothing over the thumping of the rotors in the distance until he heard a familiar hiss-whoosh. _What the fuck_? Branches crackled around him and above him, then Iron Man landed five feet to his right. 

"Hawkeye. We gotta go."

Tony being serious was a terrifying thing. "What's wrong?"

"Grab your shit, Clint. Now."

Clint's heart seized up. "Is it Nat? Is she okay?"

Yelling from the NeoNazis, pointing in their direction. Clint barely registered it, Tony spared them a glance. 

"We gotta go. Now. I'll explain in the chopper."

Clint snatched his bag and secured it around his wrist. Tony grabbed him, saying, "Hang on, we'll be at the helicopter in a minute. I'll dodge the trees," then flew off, just as the gunshots started from the compound. 

~*~

 

She walked out of senate chambers into a crush of media she hadn't been expecting, and cursed herself for being so naive. She had no weapons on her - she wasn't allowed them in such a situation now that S.H.I.E.L.D. was defunct - and her instinct was to start thrashing. Before she could move, though, three of Tony's best bodyguards were surrounding her, holding back the media and making a way for her. The one she knew as James grabbed her elbow and she fought the urge to snatch it away, reminding herself that this man was safe, Tony would never send someone to hurt her. 

"Mr. Stark says just keep your head down and get back to the tower. Don't do anything fancy."

She nodded and he guided her through the crowd, cameras flashing in her face, blinding her, pushing her fight or flight instinct to the absolute limit. They got her out of the building where the crowd thinned, to the street where the reporters were almost non-existent. 

"We're to take you to your car. It's reinforced, right? S.H.I.E.L.D. equipped it?" 

"Yes."

"Good."

They walked her to her Corvette and waited until she got in and locked her doors. She rolled down her window. "Thanks, boys. I was about to make a scene, and that would have been bad."

"That's what Mr. Stark was afraid of."

~*~

She waited until she was on the interstate to call him, but she had to hear his voice. Natasha needed to feel him on the line, she missed him and needed his comfort after the stress she’d just been through. She wasn't angry anymore and she suspected he had been too worried to be angry, but you never knew with Clint. Hawkeye was a mysterious force sometimes.

"Hello?"

"It's me."

"Jesus, Nat, are you ok?"

"I'm fine. It's been a helluva few days, though. Are you okay? At the Tower?" 

"I'm fine. Why the hell are you worried about me? Fuck, Natasha, you have missiles shooting at your head and you're - "

"Are you still pissed?"

Silence.

"Clint?"

"I can't believe you would ask me that, Tasha."

"I mean, I just spent the last few days with - shit. I'm getting pulled over. I'll call you back. I love you."

She hung up before he could answer, and Clint cursed the phone loudly.

~*~

Natasha sat in her seat with the window down, pissed, wondering how the hell she was going to get out of this. Her government connections weren't going to help, she wasn't connected with the government anymore. Maybe the cop was a fan of superheroes and would let her go based on her being an Avenger. Or maybe he liked boobs and was one of those cops who would enjoy the view and let her slide. She would normally be pissed if a cop did that, but today she was exhausted and anxious enough to get home that she didn't even care. _Have a look at the girls, officer, just let me get home to my man and my bed. I won’t break your neck today._

He approached the window with his pen in one hand, pad in the other. _Well, fuck. Looks like he's serious._

"Ma'am? Do you know how fast you were going?"

"No officer, I don't, I wasn't really paying -"

A sharp pain in her neck, the world went black and her head hit the steering wheel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know that canonically, Tony destroyed all of his suits at the end of IM3. However, for the purposes of this fic (and in my own little head canon), he had one that he hung on to in case of emergency and because he was just too attached to Iron Man to completely destroy him...he just didn't tell Pepper about it. Every couple has their secrets.


	19. Natalia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha faces her past.

She awoke from unconsciousness like pulling herself free from a wet blanket. She heard a low hum around her and knew she was traveling. A plane?

"She stirs."

"Make her sleep again. Do not mark her. She is to be unharmed."

 _Russian. They're speaking Russian. Oh God, they found me._

A pinch in her arm, and then back into the abyss.

~*~

She awoke again, swimming up from the deepest recesses of unconsciousness slowly, instinctively afraid of what she was waking into.

The first thing that she was aware of was that she was restrained. Very restrained. Her arms and legs were zip-tied to a chair in several places, and the chair was too heavy to move. It didn't matter, she was too exhausted to move anyway. She vomited, turning her head to the side, trying to avoid being sick on herself.

"Yes, Natalia, you are sickening indeed."

She closed her eyes. That voice had haunted her dreams most of her life, and still did in times of stress. She had prayed so many times that he was dead. Oh how she prayed he was dead. But now she was about to be, and by his hand.

"Mikhail."

"Ah, I see you have not forgotten everything you were taught."

"I forgot nothing."

He backhanded her viciously. "You forgot loyalty, bitch."

She closed her eyes and took the punishment silently, as she always had. She prayed for it to end soon, as she always had. But she allowed herself to feel; she felt anger, and channeled her anger in a new direction now.

She opened her eyes and faced him.

"It is too late for you to learn to practice loyalty, but you will learn the price that those who do not practice it must pay."

She looked up at him, defiant. "I am not afraid of you, Mikhail. You cannot make me afraid anymore. I am not your little girl. I can kill you, and if you let me go, I will show you."

He laughed at her impertinence. "You could never. You, who learned everything from me! Or have you picked up a few tricks from your friends at S.H.I.E.L.D.? Or your freak buddies? That man you give your body to, the archer? Has he taught you?" She stared at him. "Oh yes, Natalia. I know everything. And you will pay for it all. When I find your friends, they will pay as well."  Her eyes narrowed to slits and she curled her upper lip in a snarl. "You were my protégé, and you humiliated me. You will suffer. And so will they."

"Fuck you, Mikhail. You can kill me, but they will avenge me. They will crush you like the piece of dogshit that you are." She spat at him.

He stepped up and smacked her viciously in the face, then grabbed a rod and pounded her arms, face and upper body relentlessly. At every opportunity, Natasha looked at him, refusing to back down or show fear. For her impertinence, he slammed the rod across her eyes. He beat her without mercy for what seemed like hours but what was probably only minutes and quit only when the blood from her mouth sprayed and got on his shirt. Her face was bleeding horribly and her arms, chest and shoulders were screaming in pain. She whimpered but did not cry out. Natasha knew her nose was broken and felt sure that her orbital bone was broken. She was fairly certain her right wrist and left humerus were also broken.

"Ah, you mean to be tough? You will cry out for me. You will scream in pain, Natalia.”

“Go to hell, Mikhail, you coward.”

He roared and began to beat at her legs and ankles. She bit the inside of her cheek, tasting blood, unsure if it was from her bite or some other wound but willing herself not to scream or pass out. He went on and on, waiting for her to scream, bellowing when she did not even after he broke the rod on her kneecap.

He stopped, throwing the broken rod to the side, panting. ”This is limiting. Untie her, I want better access."

The zip ties were cut and Natasha pulled her arms to herself, cradling them. The zip-ties about her legs were cut and she was thrown to the ground. Mikhail began kicking her, and she curled into fetal position.

"Cry out, Natalia! Beg me for mercy!"

Natasha clenched her feet with all her might, felt a tiny crunch under her toes, and gasped out, "Never."

Mikhail screamed in rage and kicked her again, breaking her tibia. She moaned softly, and thought of Clint. His eyes, his beautiful eyes, and how she was going to die with him mad at her. She sobbed once. He kicked her again and again, calling her a bitch, until she went still.

He kicked her in the back one last time and said to his assistant, "Check her."

The man put his fingers to her throat, pulled his bloody hand back and said, "She is not dead but she is very close. Her heartbeat is almost gone."

Mikhail waved his hand. "Take her to the woods and throw her in the snow. The wolves will come and finish her."

Two young men loaded her into the back of a jeep, drove her three miles out, dragged her out of the car under her armpits, and left her for dead.

The cold snow startled her awake, and she opened the one eye that would work to take in her surroundings. She heard thumping in the distance, and what sounded like an explosion. She drifted off. The thumping got louder, then someone was touching her and it hurt.

“Natasha? Nat? Can you hear me?”

Her voice sounded like someone else’s, and from very far away. ”I'm dead, Cap. Tell Clint don't be mad."

Then nothingness.


	20. Near-Death Experiences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha and Clint are both close to the edge, but of very different cliffs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank God, thank God you're okay  
> I could have lost you  
> You had me afraid  
> You know when you steal away  
> The thoughts in my head are nails in my bed  
> Keep me awake
> 
> Did you see  
> How close my feet were to the edge  
> When you came to me?  
> Do you love? Do you see them?
> 
> You say that you're not leaving  
> I want to believe it's true  
> But I never see you  
> I'm out on the edge, waiting again  
> Nothing that I can do  
> I never see you
> 
> "I Never See You" - Andy Davis

The first thing she was aware of was the pain. She hurt everywhere, there was nowhere on her that wasn't in terrible, screaming pain. The second was the smell, she was clearly in some kind of hospital. The third was that she was hearing German and English mingled all around her. She put these three things together. 

She didn't even open her eyes, she had a feeling it would hurt. "I am in pain. Please help me."

"Hey, you. You're awake." 

A gentle hand took hers and she risked opening her eyes. Only one would open, and Steve sat there, smiling at her and holding her hand.

"You're gonna be okay, Nat."

"Where am I? What's wrong with me? Where's Clint?"

"Hang on, one thing at a time. What did you say just now, in German?”

"'I am in pain, please help me.'"

Steve pressed the call button and informed the nurse that she was awake and in pain. The nurse said she was on her way.

"Where am I?"

"Hamburg, at the military hospital. Tony and I pulled strings."

"How long have I been here?"

"This is the eighth day."

"What's wrong with me?" 

"Well, you were severely beaten. Very severely beaten. What happened to you would have killed almost anyone else a couple of times over. As for your specific condition," he wouldn't meet her gaze, "there's a lot of things. But you are going to be ok."

"How did I get here?"

"Hawkeye got suspicious when you didn't call him back right away. We started looking for you immediately. Tony pulled every string he could find and we tracked you to Russia, but didn't get there in time. We found you right after they dumped you, the other chopper tracked them back to their hideout. They're all dead, Nat."

The nurse came in and took Natasha's vital signs, then added a tiny bottle to her IV. Natasha thanked her profusely in German, then waited until she was gone.

She laid her head back on her pillow, feeling the blessed relief of the drugs. "Where's Clint? Why isn't he here? He can't be happy that you're here instead of him." 

Steve smiled a small smile. “He and I have made peace, of a sort. And, well, Clint...he got a little out of hand." Natasha just looked at him. "When we realized you were missing, he was out of his mind with worry. He wasn't easy to deal with, let’s just say. He got unruly. When we tracked you to Russia, well… we had to instruct security not to let him out of the building and hide his weapons. Then when we found you injured and so close to death..." he gave a small smile "Thor and Tony had to contain him. Bruce had to leave the area, it was too volatile."

Natasha just stared. He loved her that much? "But how did you get here? Why did he not kill you with his bare hands?"

"We decided that a couple of us were going out to search and then one of us was coming to stand guard over you. We had made it clear that it wasn't going to be him because he was too broken up and we were afraid he wouldn't be able to think objectively on the search and then let you heal. We were leaning towards Tony and Thor. Clint actually insisted that it be me and Sam."

Natasha was agog. "He did?"

"Yes. He said that of all people, Captain America would be the best person to get things done on a military base. And he was right, everything I've asked for you has been done. Almost all of it at his request."

She pondered for a minute. "When can I go home?"

"As soon as you can sit in a wheelchair, Tony is sending a private jet with fancy doctors to take us home."

"Call Hawkeye and tell him I'm on the way home. Bring me a wheelchair.”

She fell back into unconsciousness. It took another day before she was able to get into the wheelchair.

~*~

They were all sitting in Tony's office, anxious for the helicopter to land after picking up Natasha and Cap from LaGuardia. Clint was pacing, an absolute wreck. He had finally slept a few hours the night before after hearing from Cap that she had been awake, talking, and was ready to come home. Knowing that she was safe had calmed him a little. Just a little. Now that she was in the air and on the way home, he was a wreck again. The sleep, shower and shave he’d had seemed to have done nothing, really after an hour of intense worry when he woke up. He had just gone back to looking like he was a dead man, waiting for a grave, except now he had shaven. 

Tony's phone rang, and everyone jumped. He answered it.

"Yeah."

"Tony. We're seven miles out and have a problem. You gotta clear everyone out, especially Hawkeye."

"Why?"

"The docs say she's had a pulmonary embolism. They say they can fix it, but they have to get her to medical immediately. They're working on her now, and it looks scary. Just get him out of there."

"You got it.” He hung up. "Folks, we gotta make way for the medical team. Nat has to go to medical to be cleared before she can go home."

Clint snarled, "Fuck that. Medical can come to her. She's coming home with me."

The chopper whirled closer and closer. "Trust me on this one, big man."

"No."

The helicopter got louder and louder. "Thor, grab him."

Thor obeyed, being kicked and punched for his efforts, withstanding all of them. Tony spoke up, "Hawkeye, I'm begging you to just come with us, please."

Thor was dragging him, but too late. The medical team was unloading Natasha on a stretcher, a blue bag to her face, blowing air into her mouth and nose. Clint went limp. Pepper and Jane started crying. "She's going to be okay, Clint, but we have to go."

The medical team went running by, shouting directions and working on Natasha. Thor released Clint as he spotted Cap trailing behind, walking up to his friends. Clint looked to him hopefully, and Steve just shook his head. "They're doing all they can, Hawk."

Clint sagged against Thor. "Oh, God. We were getting married again. Oh, God no…." Glances were exchanged, but no one said anything.  

Thor and Tony each put an arm around Clint and led him away.

~*~

It was morning when she awoke for the second time, smelling hospital smells. This time, she heard English, and her pain was not as bad. She tried to open her eyes, and they both opened this time, although one only opened a slit. Yes, this was a hospital, but this one was more familiar. She had been here before. She looked around, trying to get her bearings, searching for the call button, and felt something holding down her hand. The one hand that felt free. One was encased. One was…what is that?

She looked down and moved her hand at the same time, but her hand wouldn't move. She looked stupidly and realized that it was interlaced with another hand. She followed that arm all the way up to the sleeping blond head that had fallen over to one shoulder. 

"Clint."

She was hoarse and her voice barely came out at all. She wondered how sick she must have been to not have her voice anymore.

"Clint."

Still no motion from him. He had a couple days' worth of beard and looked like hell. She wanted to see his eyes. God, she wanted to see his eyes.

"Clint." She tried tugging his hand with all of her strength while she said his name as loud as she could manage. She barely nudged him, and barely made a sound.

He startled awake, looking around dazedly. Then he looked down at her and he shot to his feet, bending over her, barely grazing her face with his fingertips, kissing her forehead where it seemed less bruised.

“Oh, Natasha, oh God, thank God, you’re awake. You scared the hell out of me, sweetheart."

"I just wanted to wake you up."

"That's not what I meant."

"Am I ok?"

"You will be."

"What happened?"

"Pulmonary embolism. Blood clot to the lungs. We flew you too soon. Thank Christ Tony had all those doctors on the plane, and that you were enhanced as a kid. Most people die from those things."

"I wanna go home."

"Normally I'd bust you out, but not this time, sweetheart. I almost lost you twice in two weeks. You're staying in."

"Asshole."

"I love you so damn much, Nat."

"I love you."

"Sleep. The doctor will be in soon and we'll talk."

"Ok."

He kissed her on the forehead, and she fell back into a soft, safe sleep.

~*~

Natasha woke up more and more for longer and longer periods over the next 24 hours, and Clint never left her bedside. Everyone came to see her, and she tried to talk. It tired her out, and Clint shooed them away. She cried when Tony came, trying to find the words to thank him and failing. 

According to the doctors who came in, she was healing amazingly quick - probably due to her enhancements. But they were tight-lipped about what exactly her injuries were, saying that her attending physician would explain all of that. Clint finally got impatient and demanded that the attending physician come in, and when he didn't come fast enough, Clint called Tony to have him shake the cage.

Clint was dozing in the shitty reclining chair the Tower clinic provided and half watching some god-awful show Natasha had shown interest in, some documentary about outer space that was boring him out of his tits. He hated shit like this, but she loved it. So he was willing to sit beside her for a marathon of "How The Universe Works," hold her hand, and learn about the life and death cycles of stars. If it made her happy, he'd deal with it. He didn't know why she watched this shit, though, she was so damn smart, she probably already knew most of this. But he loved how curious she was. God, he just loved her.

Natasha had fallen asleep and Clint was shooting longing glances at the remote when the attending physician came in, looking down at an iPad that served as Natasha's chart.

"So, Ms. Romanov! How are we -" 

Clint shushed him violently. "She's sleeping."

The doctor was only mildly quieter. "I'm Dr. Horgan. I'm here to talk to her about her injuries and condition, as requested."

Clint nodded. "Gimme a sec." He stood and leaned over her, kissing her on the forehead. He whispered, "Hey, sweetheart? The doctor's here. You wanna wake up and talk to him?"

"Yeah, sit me up some more."

Clint adjusted her bed and sat beside her, holding her non-cast hand gently.

"Ms. Romanov, I'm Dr. Horgan, and I'm in charge of your case. I'm here to talk to you about your injuries and condition, but due to HIPPAA laws and the sensitive nature, I can't talk in front of Mr. Barton -"

Clint didn't have time to open his mouth. "He stays." 

"But..."

"He stays. Period."

Dr. Horgan nodded. "Very well. When you arrived in Hamburg, you were suffering from numerous fractures and bruised internal organs. You had some minor internal bleeding. It's my understanding that in your youth, you were given some sort of enhancements?"

"Yes."

"Well, it appears that two of the effects of those enhancements is that they made your body incredibly hardy and help you to heal incredibly quickly. Frankly, Ms. Romanov, the beating you took should have killed you. So should the embolism. Fortunately, you have a very strong constitution and there were doctors right on hand for just that sort of thing."

Clint squeezed her hand gently.

"And then there was the peculiarity we found in your tox screen, coupled with the glass between your toes." Natasha squirmed a bit. "When we tested the chemical residue that was leftover on your toes, we were quite surprised, to say the least." She looked guilty.

Clint looked back and forth between the two. "What are you talking about?"

"Ms. Romanov?"

"There is a serum I know about through S.H.I.E.L.D. It slows the heartbeat and breathing down so much that you appear dead, but you're not. I took a tiny amount and hid it on my person in case I ever needed to play dead. It seemed prudent in certain situations - given the circumstances at S.H.I.E.L.D. I had it under the pads of my toes in a glass vial so that if I squeezed it and broke it, the glass would cut my toes and a little of the serum would enter my bloodstream. Just a little.”

Clint just stared at her, the doctor looked at her almost fondly. "It is a very lucky thing that you stole that serum, and that you cracked that vial when you did. Had you taken much more of a beating, you would not have survived. Nor would your baby."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Indulge me a moment.
> 
> This is one of the very first chapters I wrote, and within the first few lines, this song (in the beginning notes) popped in my head. It's absolutely haunting in it's beauty, and I strongly, strongly encourage you to look it up on youtube. (The one in the stairwell is great, but I like the studio version better b/c of the piano part.) But, I imagine that this must be how it feels to constantly be on the precipice of losing someone you love, for them to be gone all the time, to be a couple in love like Clint/Natasha. It just seemed to fit this situation, so I included it. (The artist is a friend from my HS days, hence my fandom. All of his stuff is great, I also recommend "Kiss It Goodbye" and "Amateurs".)


	21. Decisions in a Hospital Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coming to terms with a surprise diagnosis.

_"Nor would your baby._ ”

Neither Clint nor Natasha heard anything after that word. They dropped each other's hands and leaned forward intently. _Baby._  
What? How? When?

Natasha looked at the doctor and asked, "What?"

"You're pregnant, Ms. Romanov."

"Are you sure?"

"Quite."

"How did it happen?"

Dr. Horgan grinned. "In the regular way, I suppose."

"No, I mean _how am I pregnant? ___I'm supposed to be infertile. They told me they'd ruined me, that I couldn't ever..."

"They were wrong." 

She shook her head. ”I don't understand." 

"Remember how we talked about how your body has remarkable abilities to heal itself?" 

"Yes?" 

"It healed itself quite a bit from whatever damage they did to you. There is still some lingering scar tissue that has made it difficult to conceive, but I assure you. You are pregnant, about ten weeks along. Congratulations." 

"Jesus." Clint spoke for the first time. He rubbed his hand all over his scruffy face and leaned back in the chair, propping his elbow on the armrest and covering his mouth with his hand, his eyes wide and staring at the doctor. " _Jesus._ " 

Dr. Horgan went on, undeterred. "And the baby looks perfectly fine, against the odds. Apparently, you curled into a ball while you were being beaten, and that protected the fetus. The clot was treated quickly enough that it does not seem to have affected the baby. It's in a good position, the heartbeat is nice and strong, movement is good, everything looks great. We'll know more in a few weeks, but we're optimistic." 

Clint lowered his head and put his face in his hands. "A heartbeat. Oh my God." 

The doctor looked at the two of them, two people to whom he had just delivered the shock of their lives, and said, "I imagine you two have a lot to talk about. But the long and short of it is, Ms. Romanov," she looked up from staring at a fixed point on the bed next to her cast leg, "you're going to be okay, and sooner rather than later. You'll be back to yourself in a couple of weeks." Natasha went back to the fixed point on the bed. "I will check back in tomorrow afternoon. Have a good evening." 

Clint scrubbed his face again and covered his mouth. Natasha just sat, staring at nothing beside her foot. Neither of them spoke or moved for a long time. Personnel bustled by, shadows slid a few inches across the floor. The clock ticked seconds, the minute hand swept to bottom then began an upward climb. Clint and Natasha sat in silence together. 

Clint put his hands down, propping himself on his elbows and clasping his hands in front of himself. "I love you, Natasha." 

"I love you, too." She didn't move. She just stared. 

"And we'll do whatever you want. You've got the final say here." 

She didn't answer. Staring. 

"But I hope I can have at least some input." 

"Okay." 

"I want to have this baby, Nat." 

She looked over at him, confused and disbelieving. "I don't understand. You've never wanted kids. You've said explicitly that you _don't_ want kids. Why the sudden change? What makes you want this baby now?" 

"Because it's us. It's you and me. I love you, and I want to have a family with you. It's part of me and part of you. God, Nat. I just can't..." He laughed roughly. "We made a baby. I can't believe it." 

"But Clint,…” 

"Hold up, I'm not done. This wasn't supposed to happen, but it did happen. After everything you went through, that baby should be gone. But it's not. You kept that baby safe without knowing you did it. I don't think this is an accident, I think this is a gift. I think we're meant to be a family." 

"Clint, I..." 

"I'll do whatever you want. You're the boss. And I never wanted kids in my life until this moment. But I want this baby, and I want it with you." 

"I need time to think. I can't...I need to think." 

"Okay. I'm right here." 

Natasha sat back in the bed, still staring blankly. Clint took her hand and kissed her fingers, then sat back in the shitty chair, smiling a little, thinking of all the things that were in store for him. He was going to be a daddy. In a few months, this tiny little piece of he and Natasha was going to come out of her. Something beautiful and perfect he had helped to make. Creation he had been a part of, instead of destruction. She was going to have his nose and Nat's hair and eyes. Nat would teach her to dance, he would teach her to shoot. She would be the prettiest little girl who ever lived, and he would buy her everything she ever wanted. She'd never have a date, because if a boy even thought about copping a feel, he'd have an arrow pointed at his junk, Iron Man aiming a hand at his forehead, Thor aiming lightning at his entire body, etc. 

It never crossed his mind that the baby might be a boy, he never entertained the thought that Natasha may not want the baby. He closed his eyes and held her hand, the mother of his unborn child, smiling and daydreaming about the pink bundle to come. He dozed off with the smile still on his lips. 

Natasha woke him a long while later when the shadows had grown long in the room and the dinner tray had been brought. It lay, untouched, on the table at the foot of her bed. 

"Clint?" 

"Yeah, sweetheart?" 

"I don't know how to be a mother. I never had one." 

He got up and sat gingerly on her bed, turned to face her. "My dad was a piece of shit and then he was gone. You and I, we're better than that. We love each other and we'll love our baby. What we don't know, we'll figure it out together. We'll give her the best of everything." 

"Her?" 

"Well, you don't want a kid that looks like me, right?" He gave her a lopsided smile. "It's a girl. I just know it.” 

She gave a small, unsure smile back at him and thought quietly for a couple of minutes. Clint waited it out. 

“I don’t think we can do this. I just don’t see how it will work.”  


“Why not?” 

“We’re killers, Clint. We kill people for a living. We dress it up all nice and say we’re spies and assassins for the government, but…fuck. Look how that turned out.” 

“Sweetheart, we don’t do that anymore. You and I, we’re part of a team of superheroes who do nothing but fight for good. When we did what we did, we were fighting for good. The company we worked for was shitty, but we had good intentions.” 

“We killed people. A lot of people.” 

“Yes. Bad people who were going to kill lots more innocent people if we didn’t stop them.” 

“We killed a lot of people before we got into the ‘good’ side of things.” 

“That’s the past, sweetheart. And it makes us better equipped to teach right from wrong, when we're very well-versed in both sides of the coin.” 

She sat silently. He stroked her hand, saying nothing. 

“I'm scared, Clint. I just don't know about this. I really suck at emotional shit. I don’t know anything about kids. My childhood was the most fucked up thing anyone could ever imagine. I can't imagine _not_ fucking up a kid.” 

“Okay. Let me ask you this. Take all of the other factors out of the equation - our jobs, our pasts, everything. There’s just you and me. Do you want this baby?” 

Her brow furrowed. “I don’t know. I think so. I'm pretty sure yes.” 

“Let me ask another way. If you were to _not_ have this baby, would you regret it?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then there's your answer.” He kissed her hand, then leaned over and kissed her lips very, very softly. “I know it’s scary, sweetheart. Think on it some more. We have a little time.” 

“Okay.” 

He laid her bed back and got her comfortable, sitting beside her bed, holding one hand and stroking her hair until she fell asleep. He fell asleep not long after, still holding her hand, his head dropped to his chest. It was full dark when she woke him. 

"Clint?" 

He yawned. “Yeah, sweetheart?" 

"Is this really what you want?" 

“The baby? Absolutely." 

"You won't change your mind?" 

"No. Not one bit.” 

She hesitated for a second. "Do you swear you won't leave me?" 

He leaned over and kissed her lightly. "Sweetheart, if I ever leave you, it won't be by choice. You're stuck with me." 

She nodded, then nodded again. Natasha looked at him, smiling a little. "Okay. Call the doctor." 

"Why?" 

"I want to see for myself that our baby is okay." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I plan on spending a fair amount of time on this pregnancy. Being pregnant is a complete mindfuck for perfectly healthy people, but when you take two emotionally damaged people like Clint & Natasha, throw in massive life changes and hormones....well, I want to play.


	22. Detachment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha struggles with being pregnant. Clint struggles with Natasha.

The ultrasound was the most amazing thing either of them had ever seen. Natasha's belly was still flat, as flat as it always was, but there it was: a tiny little sea monkey with arms and legs and a huge head that they hadn't known they wanted. It bounced around on the screen like a little humanoid version of pong, and they stared dazedly. Clint was visibly thrilled. They were both terrified.

Her doctor told her that due to the level of scar tissue, she would be considered a high-risk pregnancy and would have to avoid very high-stress environments and exertions. Clint nodded, Natasha fumed a little. Nine months with no real exercise? No work? What would she do? But, if that’s what she had to do…

Natasha began refusing all pain medication. The doctors insisted that it was safe to take certain medications, but she insisted on going without, making her very uncomfortable and more short-tempered. Clint took it in stride; he was too excited to be upset over her attitude. Natasha sent Clint out to buy books the next time she slept: she trusted books much more than the internet and she wanted to know what she was facing. He came back and they started reading. The books all advised waiting to tell friends and family until the first trimester was over. For them, that was about two weeks away. Which was fine, she was going to be in the clinic a good chunk of that time anyway. So they waited, and they read. Natasha felt braver when she was educated about something, and she wasn’t feeling very brave about this pregnancy at the moment. Clint was horrified as he read about changes in a woman’s body during pregnancy. He couldn't imagine his Natasha going through the things the book described - and he had done this to her. _Jesus, Barton. Smooth._ Still, he was excited about the end result to the point that he couldn’t sleep well. A baby. _His baby._

They started discussing names, parenting techniques, which room to use as a nursery ("I don't give a shit, that's up to you, sweetheart" - a statement he would take back later), and how soon they could tell people. Natasha's due date was November 11th, making her 12-week mark a week to the day after she was set to be released. They decided to ask everyone over to dinner and tell them all together. 

Natasha was released after a week in the Tower clinic at her 11-week mark, and was almost completely healed after the next two weeks. She still had some pain in her leg and wrist, but it was minimal. Clint marveled that she could heal from the breaks she had suffered so quickly, and thanked God for the enhancements the Red Room had given her. Without the meddling they had done to her body, she would be dead. So would the baby. Yes, he was very glad they had experimented on her. He would never forgive them for the damage they had done to her, but they were indirectly responsible for his happiness now, and he recognized that. 

Someone from medical came to see her in the apartment once a day, insisting she remain on bedrest for the first week she was home, then modified bedrest for three days, finally letting her up fully just after twelve weeks. They had been wanting to watch the baby and monitor Natasha’s legs, fearing another clot that could cause an embolism. She had let them and even acquiesced to the bedrest, feeling the same caution. Everything was fine.

~*~  
 _ **12 weeks**_

The day after she got home, they had everyone together in their apartment. Tony and Pepper had ordered in a lavish meal, calling it a “welcome home” dinner. Thor and Jane came and brought flowers, Steve and Bruce came to welcome her home as well, even thought they’d been frequent visitors since she'd been back at the tower. Natasha was touched at how relieved everyone seemed to have her home. 

The group had had dinner and were sitting around the table, laughing and joking, all but Natasha drinking beer or wine. Clint cleared his throat, "Hey, guys. We've got something we want to tell you." He smiled at Natasha and she blushed prettily. She tugged his hand and he whispered, “It’s soon enough, I can’t wait.”

Jane said, "You're secretly married? You already told us."

Clint blinked. "I did?"

Bruce nodded. "Yeah, when they bringing in Nat. You said you were getting married again.”

Clint looked uncomfortable. "Well, we are. We were. Sort of. That's a long story. But it's not what we wanted to tell you." He took Natasha's hand. "Do you want to, or me?"

"You do it." She looked uncomfortable, despite her small smile.

He turned back around, beaming. "We're pregnant. Due in November."

The table was dead silent, and then Pepper let out a girly “ _OMYGOD_ ,” running around the table for hugs. Jane followed. Thor looked pleased but Bruce, Tony and Steve looked stunned. 

"Is this safe?"

"Is the baby okay?"

"Is Nat okay?"

"How...?"

Clint had expected this. Natasha was special to all of them, and their concern was certainly warranted after everything she had been through and the condition they had seen her in. "The doctor spent a lot of time with her and checking the baby. Everything looks fine. Nat is fine, although the pregnancy is considered ‘high risk’ and she’s going to have to take it a bit easier than most women. She’s pretty pissed about that. As for the ‘how’ - well, except for telling you that it happened the natural way," Tony rolled his eyes and Steve looked away, "they don't know. She wasn't supposed to be able to get pregnant, but here we are."

Bruce asked, "Are you okay with it?" 

"Yes. Absolutely. Have been since about fifteen minutes after we found out."

"Is Nat?"

“I think so. She was hesitant, but she seems to be okay now. It’s a shock to both of us.”

Tony sat back in his chair and contemplated, looking over at the women cooing and babbling at the other end of the table around a wide-eyed Natasha. "Well I don't know whether to thank you or kick your ass. You just stole all of Pepper's attention and free time for the next year or so."

~*~  
 ** _13 weeks_**

No one was surprised at all when Clint was protective to the point of ridiculousness over Natasha. He had come so close to losing her - twice - and he had nearly lost his mind with grief and worry. Now she was carrying his baby, too...if anything happened to her and/or the baby, everyone was quite sure that he would not survive it. 

But what surprised everyone else - what left everyone absolutely shocked, actually - was how much Tony seemed to take an interest Natasha’s pregnancy as a personal cause. They had always had a good rapport, but his dedication and devotion to getting her and a healthy baby here safely was mystifying to everyone (and a beacon of hope for Pepper). Tony spent a king's ransom hunting down the premier high-risk OB-GYN specialist in New York City and having him sign a contract stating that he would be at Stark Tower within twenty minutes of being paged - day or night - and see Natasha for weekly visits. He set up a room in the clinic for delivery and prepped it for a c-section, just in case. He even set up interviews for doulas. 

Natasha was completely mind-boggled, Clint was thrilled and grateful. She reminded them that she was only thirteen weeks along, a lot of this was rather premature; and oh by the way, she was the one that was pregnant. She was largely ignored. Tony and Clint frequently ganged up on Natasha, clucking like mother hens. Pepper was a switch-hitter, sometimes on their team, sometimes hers. She was torn between appreciation, affection, and a strong desire to knock their heads together. The rest of the guys typically just watched with amusement, occasionally offering Natasha quiet moral support, occasionally ganging up against her with the others. But nobody was going up against Team Papa Bear out loud, with the possible, occasional exception of Pepper.

Natasha was further surprised and greatly annoyed over how protective _everyone_ became towards her. She probably shouldn’t have been surprised, considering how close she had been to death, but she was. When they heard she was high-risk, they started reaching things for her, lifting things for her, encouraging her to sit while they did small jobs for her. This lasted all of a day before Natasha lost her temper and threatened to kick the ass of anyone who continued to treat her like a child; that the doctor had said that she needed to avoid excessive stress, not that she needed to avoid doing _anything_. Everyone stood down but Clint and Tony. 

Clint put his foot down for the first time in their eight-and-a-half year partnership and refused to let her work out like she normally did. He removed all of the equipment from her little gym down the hall and had Jarvis lock her out of the main gym. She turned to the rest of the team for help, but they were all solidly Team Clint. She was furious, but understood and only pretended to hold a grudge. Natasha wasn’t really up to sparring with a dummy yet anyway, and she knew better than to try to spar with a person. She didn't make him sleep downstairs, and still snuggled him after only two nights. She just huffed at him. Clint didn't give a shit.  


~*~

He came home one afternoon to find her in her gym supervising workmen. 

"What are you doing?"

"Installing a _barre_.”

"The fuck is a _barre_?”

"It's a horizontal pole attached to the wall to use in ballet."

His eyes narrowed. "And why would you need that?"

"Because I'm taking up dance again. If you try to stop me. I will kick your ass all over this room and make you beg me to do it again. Don't think I won't do it, Clinton.”

“You’re not supposed to be doing anything strenuous.”

“Good thing it won’t be strenuous for me to wipe the floor with you.”

The workmen froze, staring at the woman who had her hands on her hips and the man who stood there, looking at her with his lips twitching. Her eyes were sparkling at him; she was trying not to laugh, too. 

She whirled around to the workmen. "What'd you stop for?" 

They ducked their heads and got back to work quickly. She looked back at Clint.

He gave in to his grin, "If you weren't in a delicate condition, I'd take you up on that, sweetheart." 

Natasha snorted. "Delicate." She made a 'pssh' sound. "I'll have your ass for that, Hawkeye."

"You've got my ass, Tasha. You've owned it a long time."

She grinned.

"So you're gonna do ballet, huh?" She nodded, he sobered. "I don't like this, Nat."

"Why the hell not?"

"What if you fall?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Watch it, Barton." 

"Watch what?"

"That's damned insulting."

"What, worrying that you could fall?"

"I don't fall."

"Nat. You haven't danced in ten years. You're bound to be rusty, even if it's just a little."

"You're pissing me off, Clint.”

“You’re not invincible, Natasha.”

Her eyes were slits. “I'm reminding myself that you've never seen me dance and don't realize just how good I am. I'm reminding myself you know dick about dance, and you don't know what forced inactivity when you're able to get up and move is like. I'm telling myself that if you think real hard, you'll realize that I'm not stupid and wouldn't endanger myself or our child. I'm having quite the conversation with myself, Clinton Barton." 

He looked at her appraisingly for a long time. "Fine. You're right. Do your ballet if it makes you happy. But not those tippy-toe shoes. Okay?"

"I'll give them up when I get wobbly."

He sighed. "God, you're a pain in the ass."

"You got a concession out of me. I'd take it and run."

He reached out and pulled her to him, she wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head on his chest.

"You're an asshole, Clint."

He kissed the top of her head. "I know. You're not exactly sunshine and rainbows yourself. But I love you."

"I love you, too."

He kissed the top of her head again. "I've always wanted to see you dance, anyway."

~*~  
 _ **14 weeks**_

Natasha had forgotten how much she loved ballet, how natural she felt _en pointe_. She recalled, now, that when she trained every morning for three hours in the Red Room and they drove her so hard, it wasn't such a hardship for her. She loved the way her body felt as she twirled and bent. She craved the power she felt as she flew through the air, knowing the lines she created were beautiful. She relished the stretch and strain she put on her legs and arms as she flexed and bent in graceful arcs. The Red Room had given her something to love unwittingly, and a skill they couldn't take away. She spent one day working out the rust, and then she was back to her old self. _En pointe_. Oh, how she had missed this. 

She danced every day, at first only for a half hour or so, eventually working her way up to two hours daily. She stretched, feeling her muscles elongate and become more limber. She worked out routines for herself, changing up her music. She danced classic ballet routines, performing various parts from famous ballets. She put on modern music and just danced, whatever popped in her head. 

She had promised to hang up the pointe shoes when she got wobbly, but she hadn't meant it. She had just had a broken leg six weeks ago, though, and wasn't as steady as she liked to make everyone think she was, so up they went. She didn't tell Clint. He was unbearable when he was right about something.

Ballet was a bit more freeing, anyway, she had the full flexibility of her feet which opened her up to a wider variety of motion. As much as she loved pointe, she had always felt more poetic when she danced ballet, so she wasn't too crushed to switch over. She did almost completely give up the classical and opera music, however, switching over completely to modern, western music when she switched over to the ballet. She felt expressive and free dancing to it.

She had very mixed feelings about that opera and classical, anyway. It was beautiful and closely tied to the ballet that she loved. It was also forever linked to Russia and all that that entailed in her mind. She loved it and she hated it. Nothing could change that. Clint had introduced her to western music - every type of music she had been denied all her life. He had tried to steer her in the direction of the music he liked, naturally, and she wasn't opposed to it. They could listen to it in the car, she didn't care. But she had what she liked, and she'd discovered it on her own. 

That had been her first taste of freedom, actually, when Clint brought her a bunch of different CDs and she listened to all of them. The next day when he had seen her, he asked her what she liked. He didn't tell her, he _asked_ her. She had been confused for a while because she'd never really had much of a choice, but she did now. She lied and told him she hadn't listened yet, then listened to them again, this time with the freedom of knowing she could like something. The next day she told him what bands she had liked. He had brought her each of their entire body of work within two days. She had been surprised and thankful. It had been one block of many out of the wall she had built around herself, and Clint took every last one of them down.

Clint had saved her in so many ways; Natasha doubted if he would ever fully understand. She reached down to pat her belly where it was beginning to swell. She didn't know if she was being saved anymore, though, because she was as terrified now as she had ever been in her life. The wall she had lived behind before she met him, cold and lonely, seemed a bit safer these days.

~*~  
 _ **15 weeks**  
_

Clint was going on his first mission with the Avengers, and Natasha's heart was burning with jealousy. Intel had gotten to them that there was a small cell of ex-HYDRA operating out of upstate New York, so Clint, Sam and Steve were headed up there to check it out and bust it up if need be. Natasha was stuck at home, feeling like an operator. She had never handled idleness well, and now was not an exception. She craved the excitement of a covert mission and fight that would come along with the busting of the cell. She had been feeling nothing but excitement and trepidation over this baby, but suddenly a new emotion showed up: a tiny little kernel of resentment. _What the hell?_ Would she always have to give up everything she had worked all her life for and loved because of this baby? She wondered if maybe the Red Room hadn't had the right idea when they tried to sterilize her in the first place, thinking she'd be a better agent… then immediately hated herself for the thought. She hated herself for thinking any of it. She should feel nothing but joy, right? Like Clint. Like everyone else around her. She was the only one who wasn’t deliriously happy about this baby, so the problem had to lie with her. She needed to get happy...so she would try.

But when Clint left to go on that mission, the tears that welled up when she kissed him goodbye were only partly out of worry and the fact that she'd miss him. A big part of it was envy of his freedom and bitterness that she'd surrendered that freedom to do what she loved and was good at indefinitely, for a baby she felt no attachment to. 

And then the tears were tears of guilt for feeling such horrible, un-motherly things. Clint looked at her curiously when she cried - she'd never cried when he left on a mission before. She just told him that she loved him so much and needed him and please, please come home safe - which was true. She didn't dare tell him that she was desperately jealous and wished she weren't pregnant with his baby so she could be with him. She hated herself in that moment and cried herself to sleep that night. _See? I told you I was shitty at emotions and was going to be a fucked up mother. And we're not even halfway through this pregnancy. God help this baby._

~*~  
 _ **16 weeks**  
_

For a week or so, when she would lay down for bed and curl up with Clint, she would have this bizarre feeling...it felt like the palpitations your heart gets when you're nervous, but lower. She didn't think much of it, didn't even bother mentioning it to her OB, Dr. Heist. It didn't happen during the day, so she put it out of her mind. 

She was lying on her back on the bed. Clint was propped on an elbow, telling her ever-so-slightly rounded belly how he was going to take it to the zoo and teach it to shoot a bow and -

Natasha bolted upright, looking all around the room. Clint shot up too.

"What? What's wrong?"

"It kicked me."

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah."

"Lay down, I wanna feel."

She lay back, still looking all around the room, dazed. _Holy shit. There's something inside me. It kicked me._

Clint was next to her belly, his mouth right next to her skin. "Come on, little baby girl. Kick again for Daddy."

Natasha just laid there, waiting to feel it again. She didn't know if she wanted to feel it or was afraid to feel it, but her mind was racing. Comprehension evaded her. 

~*~  
 _**17 weeks** _  

Clint knew she had been dancing, but he hadn't been able to catch her at it. He had the feeling that this was something private for her, but he badly wanted to see her dance. He wanted to know that part of her. 

He stepped off the elevator and heard music coming from the big room she had established as her dance studio, hesitated just a moment and went that way. 

Clint got to the door and stopped, then made himself as invisible as possible. He wanted to watch, and he suspected she wouldn’t perform for him. This was personal to her, and he didn’t want to interrupt. 

She had her hair in a classic ballerina's bun, but tendrils had escaped and swirled around her face and neck as she danced. She wore a plain black leotard, which only showcased the swelling of her lower abdomen. A thin, gossamer skirt fluttered about her waist, and her tights-clad legs ended in flat leather shoes. 

_Time can't erase the love we shared,  
but it gives me time to realize just how much you cared_

A tiny, serene smile came to her lips occasionally, and her eyes closed at times as she became one with her motions and the music - her body seeming to flow and move of it’s own accord, without any instruction from her. Her feet traced lines and arcs across the floor before they sprang, jumping effortlessly from the flat of her foot to the toe, arching her back impossibly and maintaining perfect balance, then folding herself inward, leaping to the side, standing straight and spinning herself. She was glorious. She was beauty and grace personified. Her feet slid, her arms and legs raised and lowered, she bent and arched. Her fingers remained cupped with her fingers outstretched in the most delicate pose he had ever seen, never breaking the pose of those fingers, no matter how strenuous her movement.

_You know I won’t hold you back now  
The love we had just can’t be found_

She stood on one leg like a flamingo, forming a circle with her arms in front of her, and spun multiple times, eventually raising one arm above her head. Clint lost count and felt a little dizzy. She stopped and went immediately into sidewards leaps in a backward circle. He couldn’t understand how she could do that without vertigo, but she seemed perfectly fine.

A guitar solo hit, and the intensity of her dance increased. He wondered if she had seen him and was showing off.

She leapt into the air, splitting her legs perfectly parallel from the ground, her back arched backwards in a way that looked painful to Clint, one arm raised to the ceiling and the other parallel to the ground, then landing as lightly as a cat, pulling her arms into a circle, and putting one leg behind her, spinning slowly. She leaned forward and raised her leg backwards, doing a split into the air, somehow turning her body and making a graceful transition into more dance. Then she repeated the sequence flawlessly in reverse. Clint was entranced, almost dazed. Every movement was natural, fluid, perfect. She spun and swirled, smiling serenely and closing her eyes, her hair flying all about her face. She seemed to put forth no effort at all.

She was his. She had chosen him. At 41, he couldn’t comprehend sometimes why she, so young and so achingly beautiful at 29, had picked him. But she had, and he was going to devote his life to taking care of her and his child, making them blissfully happy.

He walked towards the middle of the floor where she was and she spotted him, stopping mid-dance and surprising her. _She wasn't showing off. She’s that good when she’s practicing. My God._ He walked to her, kissing her slowly and thoroughly as the song faded out, communicating very clearly that he had intentions for her.

“A break up song?”

She smiled. “Don’t read into it. Any song will do, but this one is a favorite because it starts slow and delicate, but builds to a crescendo. Plus, it's pretty.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed him. “But if you try to leave, I’m going to hold you back.”

"You are an amazing dancer, Tasha. I’ve never seen anything like you.”

"Thank you. I told you so." She grinned. 

He grinned. "Yes you did. I believed you, but I still can’t believe it. You never fail to amaze me.” He kissed her again. “Are you sure you're not doing too much? This isn’t too much strain on you?”

“Fuck you, Clint.” She walked out of the studio towards home with her head held high like a queen, demonstrating all the grace she had just shown while dancing.

~*~  
 _ **18 weeks**_

Clint was totally enamored of this baby. He caressed her abdomen, he talked to her belly and kissed it, he read books and websites, he ran names by her, he pampered the shit out of Natasha. When he made love to her, he was more gentle than he had ever been. When she begged him to go harder, faster, he wouldn't. He brought her to the same mindless heights as always, and he did it often, but he did it slowly and gently. He showed her more affection and adoration than he ever had, and it irked her. Why now? Did he only show her this extra affection because she was a vessel for his true love? And what the fuck was wrong with her, that she was having pangs of jealousy towards her own unborn child? All of the smiling women in magazines and books were totally in love with their babies. Natasha was just…she was happy that everyone else was happy, she supposed. Mostly she was just scared. Annoyed with Clint for caring more about her belly than about her. Hoping that one day, she might feel what everyone else was feeling. Bored as shit of having next to nothing to do. And getting tired of pretending to be the happy little pregnant housewife. She hadn't gone this long without at least sparring since she was 7, and goddammit, she was _dying_ for a fight.

Natasha had looked online for maternity clothes and been absolutely appalled. They were all hideous. She was determined to wear her own clothes until the last possible second, she was NOT putting on a tent shirt or overalls, thank you very much. Besides, she couldn't see the point in buying clothes to wear for a couple of months and then never again. That seemed pointless to her, so she made a vow to herself to avoid maternity clothes until she had no choice. 

"No choice" came much sooner than she expected. Natasha had always worn form-fitting clothes, and she was carrying like she had a basketball strapped low on her abdomen: even her yoga pants were straining. She couldn’t keep wearing the same pair of sweats all the time for the next five months, so at four-and-a-half months, Natasha found herself in a maternity store with Pepper and Jane. She bought some clothes that were sort of pretty, she guessed - at least she avoided the tents and overalls - and they were comfortable. Then she went home, took a shower, and found her first stretch mark. 

That night, Clint and Natasha were curled around each other in their usual sleep position, her back snuggled into him. Clint had started his nightly ritual of whispering sweet nothings and declarations of love into her hair, only now while stroking her belly. Natasha started to cry. Clint wasn’t worried, he was getting used to this emotional roller coaster she was dragging him on. _Hormones, man._ He began to up the soothing talk in her ear, telling her how much he loved her, that she was safe, that everything would be okay. When he said, “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” she flipped into full-on sobs.

He sat up. “Tasha? What’s wrong? Is it the baby?"

She sat up and snuffled. "Yes, it's the baby! The baby has made me completely different, Clint! I can't work out, I can't train, I eat like a hog, I can't wear my clothes, my body is doing crazy shit, I'm getting kicked from the inside, I cry over fucking cell phone commercials and now it's ruining my body forever! Look!" She raised his shirt over her abdomen and pointed to the offending mark. He looked around for it, found it, squinted at it. It was a purple line, maybe an inch long. _To be honest,_ he thought, _she already has so many scars, this really shouldn't be a big deal._

He put his hand over it, looked back up at her and smiled. "Sweetheart, you're the most beautiful woman there ever was. A couple of marks on your belly won't change that.”

“Don’t patronize me, Barton! Don’t do it! You don’t want me, you just want this baby!”

Clint was nonplussed. He blinked a few times. "Tasha, sweetheart? The fuck are you talking about?" 

"You only love me for this baby!" Major tears.

Clint fought the urge to laugh. He gathered her close to him and laid them back down, one arm around her shaking shoulders, the other hand running circles up and down her back soothingly. "Oh, sweetheart. My sweet Natasha. Is that what you think?"

"It's true! You've been completely different since we found out about this baby. Since that very moment! You talk to my belly and you stroke it and kiss it and you're nicer to me than you've ever been and...oh!" She buried her head in his neck, sobbing. 

He didn't hide his grin, since she couldn't see it, but waited until he could fight it down until he spoke. He didn't want her to hear a smile in his voice. "Natasha, sweetheart, listen to me. I have been completely in love with you for the better part of a decade. That whole time, neither of us wanted children and we both thought it couldn't even happen. Right?"

She snuffled and nodded.

"I love this baby, yes. I am so excited to be a father that I am beside myself. That's true. But this is exciting and wonderful and beautiful and something I want _because of you._ Do you see what I'm getting at?"

"Not really."

He sighed. "Natasha, do you remember the day you left to go on the extraction with Cap? The last time I saw you before...you know?"

"Yes."

"There was a ring in my pocket that day. That's why I wanted to take you downtown to dinner. It's over there in the top drawer."

She pulled back, her red eyes wide. "Are you serious?"

"Yes."

"But that only proves my point!"

"How the hell do you get that?"

"You just want the baby, not me!"

“The fuck? Jesus, woman, you're going to kill me." He pulled her back close while she cried and kissed her temple, her ear. _Hormones are a fucking bitch. Goddamn._

He took deep breaths. _You can survive this, Barton. She’s not herself. She can't help it._ "Sweetheart, did it occur to you that maybe I was waiting for a romantic moment? That we've had a lot of shit going on and the right time hasn't come up? That I'm dying to ask you but I promised not to do it in bed again?" She snuffled. "They didn't, did they? You've got it in your head that I don't love you and that's that. How can I convince you that you are the most important thing in the world to me?" 

"Marry me."

He pulled back and looked at her. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Marry me. Fish or cut bait. Shit or get off the pot. Marry me."

"Gee, that's romantic."

"I'm serious."

"I am, too. I've never been traditional in my life, but I want to be married when this baby gets here. I wanted to be married this summer anyway, as soon Coulson gave the all-clear. Hence, the ring in the top drawer." 

"Well, let's get married this summer."

"You realize that's the next few weeks, right?"

"Yep."

"And if we run off, we will have our asses beaten by superheroes and worse, their girlfriends. So we have to do it up a little.”

"Yep."

"And we've not planned a damn thing."

"Nope."

"And we just decided to get married in bed for the third time."

"Yep."

"Well, there's only two questions left here."

"What's that?"

"Do you want to get dressed and go in front of the fireplace or somewhere slightly more romantic so I can ask you, or should I just grab it, hop back in bed, give it to you and we get it on?”

~*~

 

The chorus of squeals and backslapping was much louder when Clint and Natasha called everyone up to the common room the next afternoon and told them they were getting married. Nobody was surprised, just excited...there was an "about time" air to the discussion. It turned out there had been a pool, and Jane had won the pot. She didn't seem to care - if she did, no one was able to tell, because Pepper had snatched her up and grabbed Natasha by the hand, calling out to Jarvis to have her assistant bring up bridal magazines from the last six months and the numbers of the five top planners in the city. Then Pepper started talking location, colors, flowers, and all kinds of shit Natasha hadn't thought about for half a second.

Tony magically produced champagne and the men stood around, clapping Clint on the back and making the occasional crude joke that would get them beaten severely had Natasha heard. Tony offered the use of his winery, or his Italian villa, or his Caribbean island, or his English estate, or any of his properties, really. Just say the word. Any of them could be secured against the paparazzi. And, of course, he'd like to pay for the reception as a gift to the bride. The groom would be getting a bachelor party worthy of superheroes. Clint said he didn't give a fuck what they did or where they went as long as she showed up and they wound up married.  

 

~*~  
 ** _20 weeks_**

Clint had bought cigars for the occasion of the anatomy scan ultrasound at twenty weeks. Tony told him they were shitty and bought Cuban cigars, top of the line. Natasha told them both they were morons, that it was just an ultrasound to see if the baby was growing normally. 

"Sweetheart, they're going to do the 4D thing today. We're going to get to see our daughter's face for the first time. Don't you see how exciting that is?"

"That's another thing. We don't know what sex this baby is. It could be a boy. You don't -" 

"Its a girl. That's all there is to it."

She was starting to become genuinely worried about his reaction if she was having a boy. "But, Clint, what if it's not? Just...what if?"

"It is. I'm sure of it."

"You can't wish it so, dammit!"

His expression turned mulish. "We're having a girl, Natasha."

"Why is this so important to you?"

"It's not. I would love a boy to the ends of the earth and back, too. I just know."

She sighed. There was no point. He had been so damn stupid over this pregnancy, she had never seen him like this. She hadn't known he had the capacity for this. It was endearing and obnoxious. It would probably be more endearing if she felt the excitement as he did. 

~*~

The doctor squirted the cold gel on Natasha's belly and spread it around with the wand. Clint was squeezing the hell out of her hand. She just laid back and looked at the screen on the wall in front of her. The baby came on screen, and it was definitely a baby. A real baby. She could pick out the baby’s arms and legs, curled into fetal position. She knew now why they called it that. She recalled curling into that very position three months ago in Russia and shuddered.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

“Fine.”

He squeezed her hand and went back to watching the screen, absently playing with her engagement ring. She laid there and watched. The doctor measured and marked things, occasionally taking screen shots and labeling things. ‘Toes.’ ‘Hand.’ ‘Face.’

“Okay, we’re going to switch to 4-D now for a few minutes since we’ve got a good angle…”

The screen changed, and there was a face. A real face. A little distorted, but it was a real human face. The baby moved and brought it’s hand up to it’s face, brushing it’s nose, then brought it’s hand back down to it’s chin. 

Clint said, “Oh my God, Natasha. Look.”

“That’s my baby?”

“That’s her.”

Clint whirled around. “It’s a girl?”

“It sure is. And she's perfectly healthy.”

Clint kissed Natasha hard. “I told you so.”

She smiled a little. God, he was unbearable when he was right.

~*~

 

They left and went upstairs to the common room where everyone was waiting clutching a handful of ultrasound pictures. Natasha’s brain was buzzing. _Holy shit, there's a child inside of me. A real, live human being. There are fingers and toes inside of me. There are two hearts in me right now. Two brains. Two livers, two stomachs. One is mine. One is half mine and half Clint's._

_Half Clint's. I'm carrying half of Clint inside of me all the time. There is going to be a person walking around on this earth that is a living monument to the fact that we are in love with each other. That should be the greatest thing ever and I should worship that monument. Why do I just feel like it's a parasite sucking out my energy, beauty, health, and Clint's love?_

_Will he ever love me - just me - again? Just for me, not for the baby?_

_Is he marrying me for me, or for the baby?_ The doubts wouldn’t go away, even though she’d gotten what she'd asked for.

 

~*~

 

She walked into the shooting range, where he was practicing. “I want to get married now.”

“What? Stop simulation. What did you say?”

“I want to go to the courthouse Thursday. That would have been our two year anniversary. I want to get married on that day.”

“But what about Pepper's plans?”

“We don’t have to tell her. Or we can tell her and just renew our vows on a beach or something after the baby is born. I don’t care. I really don’t. I just want to know you love me, and I want to get married on our anniversary. I’ll wear the gown I bought and everything. I’ll do my hair, I’ll carry flowers. Or we can hire a judge and do it in central park. But I want to get married Thursday.” 

“I wish I could understand why you’re so hung up on me not loving you. There is nothing more important in this world to me than you.”

“Hey hey so you say.”

“Goddammit, Natasha!” He threw his quiver down on his bag and walked a few steps away. “What the fuck is it going to take? Huh? I’ve been as patient as I know how to be, but I swear to God it’s like you’re trying your best to run me the fuck off. Well guess what, sweetheart? It’s not going to fucking work. All you’re doing is pissing me the hell off. I’m not leaving, do you get it? I love you, I have always loved you, I will always love you, and just because I love our daughter too does NOT mean that I love you one tiny bit less. If anything, I love you more! Goddammit!” He grabbed his bag, bow and quiver and stormed off.

“Wait! I thought you weren't leaving!”

“I’m not! I'm just too fucking pissed to stay here right now and be doubted all the damn time. I’m going to get a beer, and I’ll be back. Maybe three beers. Maybe ten. But I’ll be back, believe it or not. I love you, believe it or not. Fucking hell!” He threw the door to the shooting range open with unnecessary force, started out of it, then turned back. “Just who the hell are you, Nat? I feel like I don’t even know you anymore.”

 _Shields up, Natasha. Shut it down._ “What's that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve never needed me for a goddamn thing. You’ve kept me around because you wanted to, but you haven’t needed me in your life. I’m a convenience, almost an accessory. I’ve needed you, I’ve needed you so badly I thought I would die from it, but you've been a fucking island. You’ve never needed me for shit. You love me, but I'm just here because I’m something you want to have, not because I'm someone you rely on. And you know what? I was okay with that. I got used to being the one who needed you, but wasn't needed. It fucking hurt sometimes, it hurt like hell, but I dealt with it. Now all the sudden, you’re rocking the boat. You’re role-reversing on me. You’re putting words to the way I’ve felt for seven goddamn years! Sucks, doesn’t it, sweetheart? To feel like you’re not getting as much as you give? But guess what? Your fears are completely fucking unfounded, because I love you so goddamn much I can't even…I just can’t… _fuck_!” 

He threw open the door again, and this time he let it slam behind him. He didn’t come back in.


	23. Union

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seeking and achieving a unity.

"I don't get it. I don't understand her at all."

Clint was sitting with Bruce and Steve in a bar in midtown, working on his second Budweiser after switching from what seemed like an endless stream of Jack and Coke an hour ago. Bruce both admired his constitution and pitied him the hangover that was coming in the morning. If Natasha didn't want to kill him now, she would when she got a look at him. Bruce didn't drink, so was along for moral support and driving at the end of the night. Steve couldn't get drunk, but constantly had women buying him drinks once they recognized him. He drank them to be polite. 

Clint had sought them out in a towering rage, saying he needed loud music, lots of alcohol and to beat the shit out of someone at something, so they needed to come keep him in check and drive his ass around. They had looked at each other, Bruce grabbed his keys and off they went without a word.

They ended up at a bar with a few pool tables and darts in midtown, and Clint, the Hawkeye, set out immediately to get as piss-drunk as possible while simultaneously hustling the shit out of a group of frat boys. Once he had taken every dollar they had, he switched to beer and sat at the bar with Bruce and Steve. A pair of coeds had come over not long after he had sat down, flirting with Cap and making eyes at Hawkeye. Clint had fairly snarled at them, "Fuck off. I'm married. Kind of. Fuck, I don't know."

Bruce spoke up, "forgive him, ladies, he's had a really rough day. We appreciate you stopping by to say hello."

They walked off, casting furtive glances over their shoulders while Steve hid his face in his hands. Clint took a long, unconcerned drink of his Bud.

Bruce turned around. "You know, Hawk, not all of us are married. Or about to be. You don't know. Take our young friend here."

"Haha, Banner."

Clint grumbled. "He's probably better off." 

“Come on, Clint. You know that’s not true,” said Steve.

"She's gone crazy.”

“She’s not crazy, she’s -” Steve argued.

“What the fuck would you know about it, Cap? Have you been living with her? Are you seeing her crying over the stupidest shit? Is she looking at you while your heart is bleeding on the floor telling you you don’t love her enough? But then, you’d fucking love that, wouldn't you. It’d get you where you’ve wanted to be all along, huh?”

“Okay, now, I think we’re done drinking for the night.” Bruce signaled the bartender for the tab.

“It’s true, though, isn’t it? You want her. You always have. Well you’re in luck, because she just might want you. She doesn’t seem to fucking want me.”

“Hawk-“   


“Shut up, Cap.”

“Clint, nobody is out to steal Natasha from you. Natasha is not going to leave you. You’re having a rough time of it lately, and that’s understandable.”

“I’m glad somebody fucking understands it. I don’t get a goddamn thing. Where the hell did my Tasha go? That's not who she is. We’ve never been equals. She’s always been above me, way the fuck out of my league. I don't know what the hell is with her. She’s gone crazy. You think she’s finally wised up that she’s too good for me?”

Steve spoke up, “No. You two are good together, and she knows it.” Clint cut his eyes at Steve dangerously. Steve didn't flinch.

“Everything just feels wrong lately. It made sense before. Now it doesn’t anymore.”

“Well, Hawkeye.” Bruce threw down some bills and clapped him on the shoulder. “She’s never going to be 100% the same again, but neither are you. You’re having a baby, and that changes everything. But here’s the question: do you love her enough to accept the changes for what they are and go on with them?”

“Is she going to be bugshit crazy for the rest of our lives?”

“For the next few months, yes.”

Clint drained the rest of his beer and swallowed hard. “Fuck it. I want her anyway. I’d take her no matter what.”

“Then you’d better sober up and get home.”  


~*~

Natasha was staring at the TV, watching a late-night showing of History of the World Part I. They'd cut the dialogue all to hell, but she really wasn't paying attention anyway. It was just there…background noise to try to drown out the noise in her head, and something to try to distract her out of the numbness she was feeling at the same time. She couldn't make sense out of feeling numb and so crowded at the same time, but she sucked at emotions anyway. It was 2am and she couldn't sleep. She couldn't ever sleep when Clint wasn't there, but right now it was doubly hard. She had thought maybe she would cry herself out, but no luck. She’d cried, but she couldn’t sleep. 

Natasha heard the door open and she changed the channel quickly. Hopefully he would just go straight to bed, but she doubted it. She flipped channels idly, staring hard at the TV while listening to his sounds with all her might.

Clint appeared in the doorway. 

"Hey." She didn't answer. He walked over to her. "Can we talk?" 

"No." She kept flipping channels.

"Sweetheart, please. Talk to me."

She never took her eyes off the TV, never stopped changing channels. Her tone was dripping with sarcasm. "Why should I? You seem to think you don't matter to me. Why would I waste time on things that don't matter to me? Besides. You're drunk."

He gently took the remote out of her hand, turned around, and clicked the TV off. Then he knelt down in front of her and put his arms around her legs where she sat. "Tasha, listen to me. Please." She refused to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry." 

"What for? You just said what you've been dying to say for years."

"No, I haven't been dying to say that. And I was wrong for saying it. I'm sorry. I hurt you and I'm sorry."

She looked at him, into his eyes that she knew so well. They were sad, bright blue, looking up at her from beneath his brows. Tears pricked at the back of her eyes and she looked away quickly. ”Did you mean it? Is that how you feel?"

"Parts of it."

"What parts?"

"It doesn't ma-"

"What parts, Clinton?"

He sighed. "Sweetheart, can't we go to bed and talk about this in the morning?"

"No."

He laid his forehead on her knee for a moment and she fought the urge to stroke his hair.

Finally he spoke. "Fine. I've never felt like you needed me, except on missions. I've needed you. I've needed you like oxygen. You haven't needed me. That's been horrible to live with. You’ve always been out of my league, Tasha. I’ve never been worthy of you.”

She just looked at him. _Out of his league? Not worthy of her? How could he ever think that?_ "Is that all you meant?"

"No. It's been a total mindfuck these last couple of months, the way you've been. You've not been yourself, and it's been weird seeing the woman you love become someone else because of being pregnant, plus the knowledge that everything is about to change with the baby coming. It's a lot to deal with. I've tried to stay even keel, but you keep insisting that I don't love you. And it's damned outrageous for you to think I don't love you." She looked away. He tugged at her chin. "Hey, look at me. Believe it or not, I'm scared about this little girl, too. You're not the only one who's terrified. You're not going through this alone, Nat."

She tried to blink away the tears, but they spilled anyway. She brushed them away angrily. He climbed up onto the couch beside her. "Hey, hey...come here." Clint pulled her into his lap and cradled her, kissing her hair and stroking her arm and back. "I love you, Natasha. Please don't ever doubt that." 

She wiped more tears, he kissed her head again. He rubbed her back in silence a while longer, finally she spoke.

"You're wrong, you know."

"I'm wrong a lot, so I'm not surprised. What am I wrong about?"

"I do need you, and I've needed you for a long time. From about the second time you visited my cell. It started as one kind of need, and very small. It’s grown into something else, and very strong.”

"I've never known that."

"Well it's true.” He sat silently for a while, waiting to see if she would say anymore. “You’re not out of my league.”

“I disagree.”

“You shouldn’t. You’re the only man I would ever consider being with. You’re the only league I want to be in, Clint. I’ve never had any eyes for anyone else. It’s always been you.” 

He sat silently for a minute, stroking her back, absorbing. ”Why are you so convinced that I don't love you?"

"I don't know."

"Bullshit." She scowled against his chest. "There's some reason. I want to know it."

She sat silent, mulish. He waited, still stroking her back lightly. Nothing was said for a long time, and he finally broke the silence.

"What is it about this baby that has you insecure?"

"I'm not-"

"Yes, you are. You're afraid I don't love you and am going to leave you. You've never worried about those things before. That's insecurity."

"Fuck you, Clint. I don't want to talk about this anymore."

She tried to get up but he held her close. "Tasha, I'm trying to help us here. I want you to understand that I love you. I want to marry you in two days. We can't do that if you won't talk to me. I love you, and I love our daughter. Just because I love her doesn't mean that I love you any less. You two aren't rivals. Can you understand that? I will never stop loving you, and I will never love you any less. No matter what. Even if you left me and hated my guts, I would love you as much as right now. I just love you, Natasha. But I love her, too. It's two completely different feelings. I will never love anyone else the way I love you, and I'll never love anyone else the way I love her. You two aren't in competition with each other."

Natasha wiped her eyes again. "I want to sleep."

"Fine, but I'm coming with you."

"No."

"Yes. You can either let me convince you I love you with words, or I can hold you all night. Preferably both. You choose."

~*~

She chose bed, and he held her close, just as he'd promised. But that night, when he held her and told her how much he loved her, it meant something different...these weren't sweet nothings to a woman who believed him and loved him. These were near-desperate declarations - pleas - to the woman he loved. Cognitively he knew she wasn't going to leave, that she would be there in the morning and they would work it out, but he was never really okay on the rare occasions that they truly fought, and the thought that she didn't believe he loved her was killing him.

Natasha laid awake a long time, tears falling silently. Whenever he felt one warming his arm, he gathered her closer and said, "oh sweetheart, I'm so sorry. Please forgive me." He had no idea that the person she was angry and frustrated with was herself, and she was really sad for him more than anything else. Had she really made him feel like he was just an accessory to her? Someone she kept around because it suited her? Did he really feel that he wasn't good enough for her? She always worried that she was afraid she showed her emotions too much...was it possible that the one and only person she ever let her guard completely down around _still_ didn't see all of her, emotionally? Was she that stunted? 

Did he really feel so unequal in their relationship? And he'd always felt like that. My God, she was mildly crazy over this man. She was doing things and behaving in ways that had always disgusted her...over him. She was having a baby - which she had never wanted - in large part because he wanted it...at least because it was his and she wanted part of him with her forever. She wasn't sure she could love this baby, but she was trusting him that she could and would. Maybe she just needed to do an emotional trust fall. Natasha didn't do these kinds of things very well, at all. But if she were going to do it, Clint would be the one to do it with.

She loved him so much that she couldn't articulate it. She needed him in her life - emotionally -  and had since long before they started started a romantic relationship. How had she never communicated that? She felt like a complete failure. More tears, another squeeze and more apologies and declarations of love she didn't doubt. 

She would marry him Thursday, if he would have her. She loved him more than anything she could describe and needed him more than her next breath. Even if he didn't believe her. If she married him, he'd never be gone. He didn't have to believe her, he'd just be there. 

He was right, though: she wasn’t who she used to be. But was that a good thing or a bad thing? And would she ever be who she used to be again, or had she changed forever? 

He pulled her close one last time. "Tasha?"

"Yeah?"

"Will you still marry me Thursday?"

"Why do we keep doing this in the bed?"

"I dunno. Will you?"

"You seemed hesitant earlier."

"I don't want to marry you until you believe I love you. It gives me two days to prove it." She was silent. "I won't ask you how to prove it. I'll come up with something."

She rolled over in his arms and kissed him, softly and slowly. He responded, opening her mouth with his tongue, lacing his fingers in her hair and running a circle on her jaw with his thumb. 

He pulled back a little. "Is that a hint?"

"Kind of. I know you love me, Clint. I'm just...I'm mindfucked right now. But I love you and I need you. Do you believe me?”

“I do.”

“I’m the one who’s not worthy of you. You’re much better than I could ever hope to be. Can you understand that?”

“No. Not at all.”

“Be patient with me. Love me anyway. And please marry me."

He kissed her again, running his free hand down her body, slipping into her panties over the cheek of her ass and squeezing. "You know I love you?" She nodded. He brought his mouth to hers again, his tongue sweeping hers, his hand skirting inside the front of her panties to the front of her, cupping her, making her moan a little into his mouth. "Will you let me prove it to you?" 

She nodded. "Please."

He touched her, stroking her in the ways he knew would make her keen and moan for him while nibbling at her ear and telling her of his love and desire for her. When she was close, so close, he shucked his boxers and her panties then stroked her until she was at the precipice again. When she was almost there, he removed his hand and slipped deliciously into her, making slow, sweet love until they both collapsed, glowing, satisfied, and ready to be married in a little over 48 hours.

~*~

Pepper would’t entertain the thought of a courthouse wedding, and insisted on putting together a real wedding in two days. Clint had only two stipulations regarding the wedding: he wanted her to show up and he wanted her to wear a white dress. Not off-white, not ivory: white. She asked him why and he told her, "the first time I saw you and you ruined me for all other women, you were wearing white. It seems fitting." She didn't argue. Natasha really didn’t have any stipulations for the wedding beyond Clint showing up. She just wanted something simple. 

Pepper rented an area of Central Park and scads of security, the best in the city. Natasha had a gown, she selected flowers for a bouquet and Pepper said she'd handle it. She and Clint went to pick out wedding bands...it was not something she had ever envisioned herself doing. She told him she was perfectly happy with her necklace, but he wouldn't hear of it. He said she could just consider herself doubly marked and kissed her. They hired a judge to officiate, and Natasha figured they were done. Not according to Pepper and Jane.

There was to be a reception, a very nice one, with all of their trusted friends. Pepper ordered a cake to match Natasha's flowers, and heavy hors d'oeuvres. She had the common room lavishly decorated in the yellow, pink/orange and purple of  Natasha's bouquet.

Phil Coulson was located and brought in, and a huge war began among the men: who was going to perform what role? Thor suggested that he perform some of the Asgardian wedding rituals he was accustomed to, but before he could explain what exactly those were Jane shushed him. Apparently she had heard all about these particular rituals and decided not to be embarrassed at that moment. Tony decided he wanted to be ring bearer, much to everyone's amusement. Steve was very subdued, saying he would do whatever he was asked, if asked. Clint almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

Bruce and Coulson both wanted to give Natasha away, and were at loggerheads over it. Bruce had become quite the father figure to Natasha over the last two years, and she cared deeply for him. But Coulson was a very large part of the reason she was alive, was entirely the reason this wedding was happening, and had cared deeply for her for a long time. Natasha was extremely torn, and Clint watched her agonize for a while before he stepped in and told them that either they could both give her away or neither of them could. They apparently seemed to notice then that Natasha had been under stress over the situation, and backed down. They said they'd let her walk alone if they could kiss the bride. Clint and Natasha happily agreed, giving each of them an early kiss in gratitude.

The wedding itself was beautiful. Natasha wore an empire waist, tank sleeve gown with a sweep train, organza overlaying a satin skirt. Her belly showed adorably, but was not the focus. She had chosen well. She carried a bouquet of sunset roses accented with purple monte casino. Clint wore a loose white shirt untucked with khakis, very casual. The ceremony was short and very simple: no music or frills, just very honest and heartfelt vows, exchange of rings, a sweet, longer-than-necessary kiss, then the judge proclaiming them to be Mr. and Mrs. Barton. Legally this time.

They went back to Stark Tower for a more elegant affair than either of them had ever pictured. Every single Avenger insisted on dancing with the bride, kissing her cheek sweetly before handing her over to Clint so the next Avenger could claim her away from him. Tony took the time Natasha was dancing to inform Clint that he would still be getting a bachelor party, despite not being a bachelor any longer. Clint had hesitations about the kind of debauchery that Tony might come up with.

The cake was cut, and Tony and Pepper presented Clint and Natasha with the use of any of their estates for a week as a honeymoon. Their bags were already packed, and the private jet was waiting. Just name the destination. They went down to their apartment to grab a couple of last minute things, and then Mr. and Mrs. Barton went to the airport to fly off into the sunset.

~*~

 

They had gone to the Caribbean for their honeymoon and had an amazing time, but traveling pregnant wasn't a lot of fun and Natasha was glad to be home. Clint surprised her by stopping her at the door and carrying her across the threshold like in Vegas, kissing her soundly as he did. 

She expected for him to put her down on her feet inside the kitchen or somewhere just inside the door, so she was further surprised when she felt herself being lowered onto the bed. Clint pulled away to jerk off his shirt and push down his pants quickly. 

She giggled. "Didn't you get enough of me in Antigua?" 

He climbed overtop her and growled, "I will never get enough of you." His mouth found hers again and he opened her mouth with his tongue, probing, tasting as he pushed her pants and panties down her legs. She helped, not breaking their kiss. When he had her bare, he put his hand on her, running his finger along her slit, feeling her wetness. "God, sweetheart, you're so wet already. I don’t know if I can wait…”

He started to pull her top off, sitting her up for a moment and working on her bra. She took advantage of the time to wrap her hands around his cock and pump him while putting her mouth on his chest and abdomen and sucking a bit. He unsnapped her bra and her breasts sprang free, but she didn't let go of his dick. Instead, she scooted her body back so that she could take him into her mouth, sucking deeply. Her tongue caressed the tip of him, making circles as he moaned while her other hand started to pump. She licked the shaft lightly along the bottom, then took all of him into her mouth, groaning with pleasure and letting the vibrations travel up his cock to the pleasure centers of his brain. He grabbed her hair and thrust, slowly, his eyes closed, as she sucked and moaned around him. Her left hand cupped his balls while her right stroked him into her mouth. Natasha felt herself getting wetter and wetter as he continued to pump into her face, his head back, eyes closed, alternating between moaning and saying her name. She pulled her mouth off and licked the underside on the most sensitive part, and he grabbed her shoulders. "No, that's about enough of that." He flipped her over onto her back and lay beside her, kissing her like a starving man. "Now what do I do with you?" 

"What do you want?"

He grinned wolfishly. "I wouldn't ask that, sweetheart." He kissed her again, his hands roaming her, tweaking her nipples and settling between her legs. 

She smiled against his mouth. "I don't think I want to wait."

"Then let's not." He rolled over on top of her, slid in between her parted legs, raised one over his shoulder kissing her calf as he went, and entered her, burying himself deep. She bit her lip and rolled her hips, mewling at the feel of him as he caressed her from the inside. He propped himself on his hands and began to pump himself into her: slowly, deliberately, telling her how beautiful she was and how much he loved her and interspersing it with how good she felt around him. She rolled her hips in a circle, tightening herself around him and enjoying the sound he made every time she clenched down on him, trying to make it as good as possible for him, wanting him to feel as good as he made her feel.

After a time he let her leg drop and she wrapped both legs around his waist, linking her ankles. He sped up and he leaned lower down onto his elbows, kissing her, placing her forehead next to hers, moaning her name into her neck. She met his thrusts, pulling at his back, begging him for more, licking at the spot behind his ear and nibbling his earlobe while she whispered dirty suggestions in his ear that only served to fire him up. He pushed into her just a little faster, just a little harder, until she exploded out of nowhere with no warning, tightening around him and sending him over the edge into oblivion with her.

He fell to her side in deference to her belly, still lying between her legs, covered in a sheen of sweat. Natasha turned to look at him, draping one leg over his waist and running her fingertips down the side of his face. He opened his eyes and looked at her, smiling tiredly.

"Welcome home, Mrs. Barton."


	24. The Bargain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Natasha have a fight, and he offers her a deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suppose I said colors change for no good reason  
> and words will go from poetry to prose  
> Would you want me when I'm not myself?  
> Wait it out while I am someone else?  
> And I in time will come around  
> I always do, for you.  
> Suppose I said you're my saving grace?
> 
> "Not Myself" - John Mayer

_**26 weeks** _

Clint had been on four missions in five weeks, and Natasha was frankly getting sick of being alone. HYDRA cells were popping up all over the country, and the guys would take off to bust it up, leaving her back with Bruce, Pepper and Jane for a few days until they got back. She had hoped Clint would be able to stay home on a few of these missions because he was a new husband with a pregnant wife, but this was not to be. She tried to be understanding, recognizing that his skill set was far and away the most valuable on these missions - second only to hers. She was unavailable for the next few months, so it was essential that he go and do what he did best. But she missed him horrendously, and was a little appalled with herself for how much she missed him. She was reminding herself of any of the women in the romantic movies she’d seen or the one romance novel she’d read all those years ago. She detested the thought of being clingy or needy, but the long and short of it was that she found herself needing him and fighting the urge to cling to him when he left. The fear that something would happen to him was almost overpowering sometimes. She knew that he could take care of himself - he always had - but that worry was ever-present. What would she do without him?

Since she didn’t have him home much, she tried hard to make his time at home with her as pleasant as possible. Natasha put forth a real effort into being a housewife, since she couldn’t do anything else but dance. She learned to cook a few dishes and prepared them when he was home. She ran her fingers through his hair as he lay with his head in her lap and talked to her belly. They loved. She watched him shoot. 

But then he was gone again, and she went back to missing him and worrying. She talked to her belly out of loneliness, telling it how brave her daddy was, how much her daddy loved her and how much she was going to love her daddy. Natasha told the baby how sorry she was that her mommy wasn’t the mommy she deserved, and that she hoped the baby would get enough love from daddy to make up for mommy being such a bad mommy.

~*~

 

“It won’t take long, I just need to tell Nat we're headed out and grab my bow.”

“Sounds like she’s down the hall.” 

Clint stopped at his door and heard the music. “You’re right, Cap. Let's go down there, I’ll let her know then grab my stuff.”

“She sure likes the Dave Matthews Band, huh?”

Clint grinned, she was listening to ‘Crash Into Me’. “Yeah, when I first brought her back to S.H.I.E.L.D., that was one of the bands I brought her to listen to. She liked them a lot. Not my favorite, but…” He shrugged. “She likes them, so I get along with it.”  


They got to the door of the studio and stopped. Clint put his arm out to Steve and pushed him back a couple of steps, to make them less visible.

Natasha was dancing, and he’d seen her dance many times over the past couple of months…but nothing like this. This was passionate. This was raw. 

_Lost for you, I'm so lost for you_

She was twisting and curling herself in an incredibly sensual way - ways that he’d never seen her move unless they were in bed together. She wasn’t being indecent, just so - _sexy_. 

_When you come, crash into me, baby  
and I come into you, in a boy’s dream_

She wasn’t smiling as she usually did, her eyes were closed and her face was intensity. He felt his pants growing a little tighter.

_Hike up your skirt a little more  
and show the world to me_

“Wow. She is incredible.” 

Clint had completely forgotten Steve was there. He had to clench his fists by his sides to keep from punching him in the face for seeing his wife that way, the bastard. Instead he walked into the studio and called Natasha’s name, earning a smile. “Hey, Clint! Hi, Cap.” She kissed Clint and whispered in his ear. “That song you can read into.” She kissed his earlobe and his pants grew snug again. He jammed a hand in his pocket and she smirked.

“What are you guys doing here?”

“We just came by to pick up Hawkeye’s bow. We’ve got to ship out to Seattle in two hours.”

She looked at Clint. “But you just got back yesterday.”

“I know, sweetheart. We don’t plan on being gone long. I’m going to try to take some time off when I get back. I swear.”

She schooled her features to look unconcerned, shut herself down. He recognized the signs and said, “Hey, Steve, give us a minute.”

“Yeah, I’ll meet you up top in an hour.”

He waited until Steve was gone, then pulled her close. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry. I don’t want to go. You know know I don’t.” 

“Its fine. Go.”

“It’s not fine. I can tell. I know you, Natasha.”

“No, really, it’s okay.”

“Do you worry?”

She cut her eyes up at him. He cupped her face and bent down to kiss her softly. “You know its okay to have feelings, right? It’s always okay, at least with me. If you want to shut it down with everyone else, that’s fine. Please don’t shut them down with me.” He kissed her again. “I need to know how you feel. Knowing that you miss me, that you worry…It gets me through sometimes.”

She watched him for a minute, and he could see the debate behind her eyes. She was hiding behind her wall and didn't know whether to come out. He knew it, could see it, and knew that nobody else on this earth would know that about her. He did, though, and he loved it about her. He looked back into her eyes, trying hard to communicate to her - _Trust me. I'll not let you fall._

After a while, she wrapped her arms around him. “Do you miss me when you’re gone?”

“All I can think about is getting home. It’s been like that for years.” He pulled back and kissed her, long and slow. “Please don’t shut down on me. Okay? I need to know how you feel about things, good bad or otherwise. I know it's not easy, but try.”

“I’ll miss you. I end up talking to my belly, and I don't sleep when you’re gone.”

“I’ll miss you, too. We’ll sleep when I get home. I promise to come home.”

~*~

_**30 weeks** _

Clint and Natasha had never argued much. They had always been the type of couple that either reached an agreement quickly, compromised, or one of them walked away until they cooled off and were ready to discuss the matter rationally, like adults. However, on the matter of naming their daughter, none of their typical rules of warfare seemed to apply. 

"I told you, Clint, I don't want to name her a Russian name! I left that world behind me!"

"Fine! What do you propose, then?"

"How about Madison?"

He groaned. "God, Nat. It's so overdone. What about after my great aunt?"

"I don't _care_ if it's a family name, we're not naming our daughter Dorothy."

"Whatever. How about Haley?"

"I don't like it."

"Why the hell not?"

"I just don't. I don't need a reason for not liking something."

And so it went, the argument they had at least once a day, always ending with one or the other storming off swearing under their breath in English or Russian. 

The nursery, however, brought up an entirely different argument neither of them were expecting. Natasha wanted to put the baby in the biggest spare bedroom, Clint wanted her in the nearest bedroom to theirs. Clint pointed out that when she woke in the middle of the night, it would make more sense to have her closer. He also said that she would be in their room in a bassinet for the first couple of months anyway, so it really didn't matter what room she was in right away. Natasha raised an eyebrow at this. "I don't remember agreeing to put her in our bedroom. What's wrong with having her in her crib down the hall?"

"Nat, she's going to be waking up every couple of hours to eat for a while. It's going to be so much easier to have her right on hand so you can nurse her."

"Oh, and you decide unilaterally that I'm breast feeding, too?"

Clint took a deep breath. "No. We talked about this. You said you wanted to." 

"That puts the responsibility for her care entirely on me. Clint. That's bullshit."

"What the fuck, Natasha. You think feeding her is all there is to it? Do you honestly think I'm going to be watching TV or sleeping or scratching my balls while you change all the diapers and rock her to sleep and give her baths and all that stuff? Do you really think that?"

"What else have you decided, Clint? Her name? Her nursery colors? What schools she'll go to? You know what, I don't even care, you do whatever the fuck you want. I’m just a vessel to get her here.”

"I'm not doing this with you." He turned to leave.

"Where the hell are you going?"

"I'm walking away before I say something we'll both regret."

"Like you're the one who wanted this baby but now I'm stuck with it and you're scot-free?"

"Exactly like that, Natasha, yes. Thank you."

~*~

Natasha waited up for him that night, but he never came to her. She went to bed thinking he would come to her and they would talk, but he never came. She sat in bed all night, imagining all sorts of things, twirling her engagement ring on her finger, wondering what her husband had gotten up to.

Finally, at 4am, she caved. "Jarvis?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Do you happen to know where Clint is?"

"Mr. Barton is in the downstairs apartment. He has left instructions that he is not to be disturbed except in case of dire emergency."

"How long has he been there?"

"Mr. Barton retired to the apartment at approximately 9pm yesterday."

Her heart fluttered. "Was he alone?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Any visitors?"

"No ma'am."

"Thank you, Jarvis."

She rolled over in her bed, alone and cold despite the warm weather. He'd never been so angry he'd stayed away from her this long deliberately. He'd always come to her. She didn't know how to process this. 

She fell asleep trying to make sense of her thoughts, feelings and her husband.

~*~

She didn't see him at all the next day. She couldn't find him any of the places she would normally expect to find him, and was becoming really troubled. She texted him: "are you ok? I miss you". His reply was short and curt: "I'm fine. See you soon."

He didn't turn up at dinner, and she waited up for him before she went to bed. He never came.

"Jarvis?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Where is my husband?"

"He's in the downstairs apartment."

"Alone?"

"Yes ma'am."

She turned over and tried to sleep, but ended up crying instead.

~*~

She had a meeting with Pepper the following morning to discuss the nursery and shower, and Natasha couldn't have cared less about either of those things. But she was trying to be a good sport and go along.

Pepper pulled Jane out of the lab and brought her along, and the three of them talked about color samples, themes, decorations. Pepper asked which room would be the nursery and Natasha showed them to the bedroom next to hers and Clint's - the one Clint had wanted. While in there, Pepper pulled out books of fabric samples, magazines with bedding sets, furniture catalogs, and laid them everywhere. 

Natasha heard him come in and call for her - "Natasha? Where are you?"

She called back, "in the nursery," and waited for him to come. She watched his face carefully as he took in the scene of Pepper and Jane planning a nursery in the room he had wanted. He looked at everything they were doing and then looked at her, almost questioningly: she offered a small smile in response. "Will you be home for dinner tonight?"

"I can be."

"I'd like that."

"No problem. You ladies have fun." He turned to walk away.

She opened her mouth to call out, but he cut her off. "I almost forgot." He stepped close and kissed her very softly, very chastely, then whispered, "I love you. Talk tonight."

~*~

 

Clint was three hours early for dinner, but he was anxious to talk to her. He'd brought Indian takeout and a single rose. Clint had been to three florists before he'd found that rose, but he needed a peace offering. Two days of being hurt and angry was too much. They had to make peace. He smiled a little, thinking, _hopefully with some makeup sex involved_.

He heard piano music coming from her studio as he got off the elevator, and set out that way. He wanted to make peace sooner rather than later, and presenting her with the rose and luring her with the food seemed like a good idea. 

He heard the song and froze.

__  
_Can't you see, it's not me you're dying for_  
 _Now she's feeling more alone  
Than she ever has before_

Clint stood there, stunned. 

_She's a brick and I'm drowning slowly  
Off the coast and I'm headed nowhere_

She had always told him not to read too much into the music she danced to, but a song about abortion? The pregnant woman being a dead weight? 

_as weeks went by, it showed that she was not fine_

“No. Oh, Natasha…No…” He stepped around the corner to confront her about it. 

She was spinning, bringing her arms in on herself. Her eyes were red, and he could see her cheeks shining with tears.

_and she broke down, and I broke down  
Cause I was tired of lying_

Natasha collapsed gracefully into a ball on the ground, sobbing.

Clint threw the bags and rose to the ground, running to her. "Jarvis, stop music." He reached her, and she clutched to him. "Tell me, Natasha. Tell me what's wrong."

She just sobbed and clung to him. "You're not a brick, my sweetheart. You're everything to me. I love you so much. Do you understand? You're not a brick. You keep me afloat." He held her, afraid for her, fighting his own internal battle, and they waited on each other. 

Natasha spoke. "I don't love this baby, Clint. I don't love her and I'm afraid I never will. I don't love anyone but you."

Clint settled into a more comfortable position and almost cried with relief. He pulled her tighter and said, "Just love me, then. The rest will happen naturally."

"But I resent her. I'm angry at her. She's stealing from me."

"Stealing what?"

"My health. My beauty. My job. The things I like to do. She's stealing you from me. She's taking everything from me, and I resent her. I don't want to do all this frou frou shit, like picking out nursery colors and bouncers and cribs and bedding and that shit. It's not me."

"You're not going to hurt her, are you?"

"No."

“Ok. Then the rest of it doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter. It matters to you, it matters to Pepper. The baby has to have these things - a crib and bouncer and bassinet and all of that. And I know that she should have the best of everything. We have the means to give her the best of the best. I just can’t bring myself to care. I'm a monster.”

“You’re not a monster. Lots of women feel this way, especially when they didn’t ask to be pregnant and have a baby and not be able to work. But you’re ten weeks from having this baby, and then you can get back to work just a few weeks after that. You’re in the home stretch, Nat. You can do this.”

“I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“What? Be pregnant or be a mother?”

“Definitely not be pregnant. Right now, I don’t want to be a mother, either. I think we made a mistake, Clint.”

“I don't think so, sweetheart. I think we did the right thing, and I promise you that you'll feel the same way soon.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Have I ever lied to you, Natasha? Have I ever broken a promise to you? Have I ever vowed something to you and fucked it up?”

“No.”

“This is a vow as solemn as my wedding vow. Very soon, you’re going to see that we did the right thing. You’re going to love her and be grateful we kept her. Please trust me.”

She looked at him doubtfully, then lowered her head. “I’ve thought a thousand times about talking to you about giving her up for adoption or something. But deep down, I know somewhere that I'll love her, at least some. I know I will.” She looked up at him. “She’s part of you.” He pulled her close again. “I just don't care right now. I can’t. I’ve tried.”

He kissed her hair and thought for a minute. “I’ll make you a deal, Natasha."

"What's that?"

"You trust me?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Put up a good show for our friends at the baby shower, and do what you have to do to get the baby here safely. I'm going to talk to Pepper about this - _only_ Pepper - and tell her to take over the buying and decorating. Just have her take it out of your hands. If she has a question about something, if she wants approval of something, she can bring it to me. You don't have to do anything but follow the doctor's orders and pretend to be happy at the baby shower, okay?”

“I’m not _un_ happy Clint, I just don’t feel attached to the baby. It feels like something that’s happening to me that’s neutral. I feel like I’ll get excited when it’s time.”

“Maybe if you were around a baby?”

“Maybe.”

“What do you think about my Pepper plan?”

“What happens if I want to be involved? I don’t want Pepper picking her name.”

“You say the word, and you’re as involved as you want to be. You and I will pick her name together.” He smiled. “We’ll agree on something at some point.”

“We’ve never fought so much in our lives as in the last six months.” 

“Its okay, sweetheart. I've never loved you so much, either.”

"I feel so unnatural, Clint."

"You haven't had a natural life, Tasha. But feeling detached from a baby you can't see, didn't plan on, and didn't want isn't unusual. You're not alone in these feelings."

“Am I ever going to love her like you love her?”

"Yes. You will love her so much you can't stand it."

"I can't imagine it."

"You already do love her, although you don't realize it. You acknowledge her as a person, and as a part of each of us. If you didn't, you wouldn't be feeling guilt over this. You wouldn’t talk to her. You just wouldn't care. Just trust me, sweetheart."

"I trust you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having a much harder time writing Clint than Natasha here. I don't feel like I'm being true to his character, but it's complimentary to hers, so I'm going with it.
> 
> I'm on tumblr as of about a week ago. If you have a slightly warped and random sense of humor, you can stop by...it's nothing spectacular. You can also send prompts if you'd like. I'm caedmonfaith.


	25. Knowing the Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's almost time.

**_32 weeks_ **

Pepper had picked a theme for the baby and finished the decorations for the nursery. Seeing the room painted, decorated and a white crib against the wall with pink bedding made Natasha feel something she hadn't felt prior to the moment that Pepper unveiled it. She was standing beside the crib, running her hand along the smooth wood, taking in the room. There was a mural on the wall: a ballerina princess beside her fairy castle, holding a cute little frog and about to give him a kiss. A plush rocking chair with an ottoman sat by the window, pink gingham curtains hung over sheers. A bookcase sat beside the rocking chair, an empty toy box in one corner. The floor was covered with a pink and white rag rug. The closet door stood slightly ajar, showing the empty closet. Natasha caught sight of a set of figurines on the dresser - Tony, Steve, Bruce all Hulked out, herself and Clint - and laughed. "That's a nice touch." Clint looked over and laughed too.

"This is amazing, Pepper," Natasha said.

"Do you like it?" Pepper sounded so excited.

"Pepper, I love it. I truly do." Natasha turned to smile at her. "I never could have done this. You're a natural. It's perfect." 

Pepper blushed. "The closet and chest-of-drawers are empty, but you'll get clothes at the shower, I'm sure. And I left wall space so you could put up what you wanted. The painter is on retainer so you can have her name painted into the mural if you want."

"We decided on a name."

"No we didn't."

Clint sighed. Pepper laughed.

Clint walked over to Pepper and gave her a hug. "I don't know how we could ever thank you. You've been a godsend."

"You let me snuggle that baby to pieces, and we're even."

Clint smiled. "Deal."

Pepper waved and left. Natasha was holding a teddy bear that had been sitting in the crib, studying it. Clint walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her, rubbing her belly lightly. "You ok, sweetheart?" 

"I wonder...do you think your mom was excited when she was pregnant with you?"

Clint stiffened a little. This wasn't his favorite topic. "I don't know."

"Do you think she tried to give you her best?"

"I don't know that either. I don't believe so, but I wasn't old enough to know or understand."

"I don't remember my mother at all. I don't remember if I had a loving family and was stolen, or if they hated me and gave me away, or if I ran away, or was orphaned, or what. So I don't know if my mother wanted me. I don't know if she tried."

"You're trying, Nat. You're doing everything you can to give your baby the best."

"Do you think maybe that will set me apart from our mothers? Will it make me good enough?"

He kissed the back of her ear. "No parent is ever good enough. The only thing that sets them apart is that the good parents are the ones who care and try. The others are those who don't. You care, and you're trying."

"I think I'm starting to care."

Clint closed his eyes and whispered a prayer of thanksgiving. "I'm glad, sweetheart."

~*~  
 ** _33 weeks_**

At 1:24am, Natasha rolled over and cried out in pain. Clint jumped to his feet in a defensive position, then just as quickly was hovering over Natasha, who was curled around her abdomen. "Sweetheart, what's wrong? What happened?"

"It feels like something tore in there. Or like she kicked something loose. I don't know, but something's wrong."

"Jarvis, page Dr. Heist and alert medical. We're on the way."

"Yes, Mr. Barton."

"Come on, sweetheart, let's get you downstairs." He tried to help her roll over and she cried out again. "Jarvis, get medical up here _right now. Right fucking now,_ d'ya hear me?"

"Don't be mean to Jarvis, Clint."

"Sweetheart..."

"I'm okay as long as I don't move. I'll just be very still. It's fine."

"You can't be perfectly still for seven weeks, Natasha."

The baby kicked and she groaned. "How long until medical can be here, Jarvis?", she asked.

"Three minutes, Mrs. Barton."

She groaned. ”Please make them hurry."

~*~

Dr. Heist came into the room where Natasha lay on her side, wires running from her belly to monitors. Clint sat in a chair beside her looking haggard. 

"Well, here's the deal. You have a minor uterine hernia, which is to say a weakening or a bulge in the wall of your uterus that isn't supposed to be there. These can be dangerous because a hernia can rupture, and a uterine rupture is typically fatal for both mother and fetus. However, yours is very small and we're not overly concerned about it. In fact, we feel fairly certain that given your body's regenerative capabilities, it'll probably heal itself before your due date. But, to be on the safe side, you're on complete bed rest from now until you deliver."

Nothing about that statement had fully made sense to either Clint nor Natasha. 

"Any questions?"

"Wait. Are you saying she and the baby could both die?"

"It's very highly unlikely, given her constitution and regenerative abilities. But we're placing her on complete bed rest just to be safe."

"Just how complete?"

"You may get up to go to the bathroom, and walk a short distance every two to three hours to make the blood in your legs flow. Other than that, you are to be off of your feet with your feet propped up. Until you deliver."

"Will the baby come early?"

"We don't think so, Mr. Barton, but it's a possibility."

"Please, call us by our first names. Am I still going to be able to have a natural delivery?"

"Maybe. If you do, it will be very closely monitored. We'll have to be ready to do a c-section at a moment's notice. You should plan to have a c-section at any time now."

"It's too early now."

"A bit. If we feel like the baby needs to come, though, we can give Natasha steroids to mature the baby's lungs and take the baby as soon as next week."

"My God."

Dr. Heist smiled. "But we have no reason to think that will happen, if you stay off your feet and keep them elevated. The longer that baby stays in, the better. Mr. Barton - Clint, keep her comfortable, keep everything low stress. Stay close to home. Consider yourself out of work until after the baby comes."

~*~ 

**  
_35 weeks_   
**

Natasha was handling bed rest about as well as anyone expected her to, which is to say she was being a complete pain in the ass. She knew that she was and tried hard to be more pleasant, but she was bored, uncomfortable, in pain and - much to her humiliation - had starting peeing on herself a little when the baby stretched and pushed her head down. How humiliating. The Black Widow was pissing on herself. _Fuck._

She was trying really hard to be pleasant, but the baby - (who they were still butting heads about naming but were maybe both okay with Claire Elise) - kept pushing her feet into Natasha's lungs and stealing her breath. Whenever she did this, Natasha would grunt and Clint would come running. 

"I'm fine, dammit! She's just in my lungs again." 

"Okay, okay." 

She always felt like an asshole when she snapped at him, but she really couldn't help it but so much. The Avengers came by to sit with her, but Tony had seen the baby roll over, causing Natasha's whole abdomen to shift and excused himself. Steve came but was a bit aloof. Natasha noticed that when Steve was there, Clint hovered over her a bit more, kissing her, stroking her belly, generally making a display of being her adoring husband. He was always her adoring husband, but he wanted to make sure that Steve knew just exactly who the husband was here. She didn’t like being pissed on like a mailbox, and made sure to let Clint know it when Steve wasn't around. Clint absolutely did not give a fuck, and they butted heads. Meanwhile, when Bruce came over, Clint would slip off and take a break for a couple of hours. They both needed the break, and she was glad for time with her friend. She enjoyed time with Pepper and Jane, but the girly shit got exhausting. It was nice to just sit with Bruce and talk about things that had nothing to do with the baby. It was nice to feel like an adult whose life didn’t revolve around her abdomen. And as much as she adored him, it was nice for Clint to go away every now and then. 

Yes, Clint was being a saint, and she knew it. He rubbed her back and brought her food and drink and listened to her whine and was just generally the best husband ever. But Natasha was sick of bedrest, sick of the couch, sick of TV, sick of inactivity, sick of reading, sick of being swollen in weird places, sick of having to pee every thirty seconds, sick of everything. She was trying very hard not to resent him or the baby for putting her in this position, but she was having a hard time with that just now. She argued with Clint sometimes for no apparent reason, just out of sheer irritability. He recognized it for what it was and tried not to engage.

She did talk more to the baby than before, and she realized that she had stopped apologizing for being a bad mommy. She didn't know when that had happened, it just had. She still felt ambivalent towards the baby, but she had more hope that things may go Clint's way. She really did hope he was right. 

~*~  
 _ **37 weeks**_

"Well, there's good news and better news."

Natasha looked at her doctor suspiciously. "What?"

"The hernia appears to have healed itself, and I think you'll be able to labor without much problem. We'll still have to monitor you very closely, but I think you'll be okay. Still on bed rest, though."

Natasha sighed. "What's the better news?"

"You won't be on bed rest very long. You're two centimeters dilated and 50% effaced. I'd say we're going to have a baby within the next three days or so."

Natasha just stared at her. "But...I'm not due for another two weeks or so..."

"Looks like the baby's ready now."

"How will I know...?"

"You'll know. When it happens, get down to medical. The nurses will know when to page me." The doctor patted Natasha on the shoulder. "Get ready, Natasha. You'll be a mom before the week is out."

~*~

Clint was beside himself. He had called and texted everyone to tell them, and of course everyone had come to the apartment to see Natasha before the arrival of the baby, wishing her luck. 

Natasha grew increasingly uncomfortable, noticing her belly getting hard every now and then, but didn't mention it. Even if it were labor, it could take hours. She just smiled and laughed with her friends while Clint idly traced circles on her belly. He noticed it hardening and her tensing as her belly tensed and asked her, "You ok?"

"Yes, just a cramp."

"Is it labor?"

"No. The doctor said I would know. This isn't it."

"Okay, if you're sure..."

They went back to entertaining their friends, but Clint watched her carefully. He timed her 'cramps' and noted that they were coming every seven minutes, then every five. They went to bed discussing the Halloween party the next night, joking about what costumes Natasha could wear. Clint watched her belly harden and her hands clench every few minutes though, and worried.

~*~

Natasha woke up the next morning feeling as if she hadn't slept at all. Her back ached as if Clint had kicked her all night, but she knew he hadn't. She rolled over and looked, he was sleeping soundly. His hair stuck up in at least five directions, his face was buried in the pillow and she wondered how he could even breathe like that. 

She lumbered out of bed, went to the bathroom, brushed her hair and teeth, and walked into the kitchen, determined to make her own coffee for herself while no one was watching her. She reached into the fridge to grab the cream and felt something warm on her leg. 

_Shit. Did I pee a-fucking-gain? Goddammit!_

She looked down, and there was a steady stream of liquid running slowly down her leg, puddling on the rug in front of the refrigerator. Her belly tightened and she doubled over a little.

"Clint!"

She heard him scramble out of bed and he came running around the corner in his boxers. "Yeah?"

"Remember how the doctor said I would know when it's time to go?"

He rubbed his eyes. "Yeah?"

"My water broke. It's time to go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things. 
> 
> 1) Uterine hernias are _painful as fuck_ and absolutely do not heal themselves. (Believe me. I know.) They're also very dangerous. I am taking a great deal of creative license medically speaking when I'm writing about this.
> 
> 2) No more updates until either Sunday night or (more likely) Monday. Sorry!!


	26. In My Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bringing a new member into the Avengers family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But of all these friends and lovers  
> There is no one compares with you  
> And these memories lose their meaning  
> When I think of love as something new  
> Though I know I'll never lose affection  
> For people and things that went before  
> I know I'll often stop and think about them  
> In my life I love you more 
> 
> _In my life I love you more..._
> 
>  
> 
> "In My Life" - Lennon/McCarney

Clint had seen Natasha get shot, stabbed, break her limbs falling out of buildings, and suffer every conceivable injury. He had stitched her up himself in the worst possible settings with nothing but needle and thread and no antiseptic or pain relief. He had always known her to bite down on something and plow through whatever pain she was in: she had the highest pain tolerance of anyone he had ever known. So after seven hours of labor when Natasha started to cry out in pain and grasped at his hand, Clint felt real terror. 

Tony had spent a small fortune bringing in the best OB/GYNs, midwives and a doula for Natasha, and Clint was doing his best to terrorize them. He demanded to know what was going on. When he didn't understand what they said, he demanded that they explain it again in English. When he still didn't get it, he demanded answers all over again. Anxious fathers were old hat to the medical team, so each of them handled the master assassin as if he were any other expectant father. Clint, who was accustomed to being treated with fear and deference, was at an absolute loss. After a while, his concern for Natasha and the baby overrode his demand for answers and he settled on, "is she going to be okay? Is the baby going to be okay? Please tell me she's going to be okay." 

He had read all the books, but they were doing him no good now. The nurses kept coming in, feeling up his wife (he couldn't believe she was letting _that_ happen), and proclaiming that everything was going well, with words like "dilated" and "effaced." Centimeters and percentages. That information meant exactly dick to him. Natasha was in pain, and that shit needed to stop. _NOW_. He had known it was going to happen, he had known it was going to be bad, but he hadn’t been at all prepared for this. Every time she moaned it felt like he was being cut in two. Every time she cried out he apologized and told her how much he loved her. 

Natasha had long ago tossed off the hospital gown, yelling, " _get this goddamn thing fucking off of me, it's hot as hell in here_!”, leaving her in a sports bra and nothing else. Clint was a little on the cold side in long sleeves, but hey. This is her show. 

He tried comforting her, to mixed degrees of success. It seemed that sometimes when he rubbed her back and told her how proud he was of her she wanted him, loved him and needed him, and other times his cock was in mortal peril and he could go choke on shit. He was steady through it all, telling her that he loved her and he she could do it. He touched her whenever he could. He brought her ice chips and told her he loved her. Then he held her hands and tried not to panic when the contractions came and she cried out in agony. 

After ten hours of labor, the nurse came in, checked her and smiled softly. ”I’m going to call the doctor now.” 

“Is it time to push?” 

“The doctor can tell you everything, Mr. Barton.”  
Natasha couldn't answer, she was breathing too heavily. Clint just looked at the nurse leaving, open mouthed, then back at Natasha. "The baby's coming, Nat. It's time!" 

" _NO SHIT_.” 

Clint retreated quickly with more encouragement and soothing declarations of love. He wiped back the dark tendrils of hair stuck to her forehead, now dark brown instead of their usual red, and kissed the hand that was squeezing the ever loving shit out of his. "I love you. Let's do this." Natasha nodded, still panting. 

The doctor came in, tugging on his paper scrub coat and latex gloves followed by an unfamiliar doctor and several nurses who set about the room, directing nurses and working busily. Dr Heist indicated the other doctor and said, “Natasha, Clint, this is Dr. Woodson. He’s an anesthesiologist and is going to be doing a spinal block for you today.” 

Natasha started shaking her head violently. Clint said, “No. She wants a drug-free birth.” 

Dr. Heist replied, “I’m sorry, guys, but she doesn’t really have a choice in the matter anymore. The baby’s heart rate is dropping every time Natasha contracts, and we suspect she has the cord around her neck.” A nurse walked over to Clint, handing him a pair of green scrubs and indicating an area behind the screen to go get changed. He looked at her in horror. “Basically, the baby is in distress and we have to get her out immediately.” 

_~*~_

The only person in the waiting room who was remaining calm was Bruce, nobody else was even bothering to put up a pretense. Tony was pacing a circle around the room, checking his phone obsessively and stopping everyone who looked "medical" that came by, asking for information. Thor walked to the door of the ward hopefully every three minutes or so, as if it would look different one time.  Steve sat in the corner with his forehead in his hands, silent. They all suspected he was praying. Jane and Pepper had given up and left after the men made them too twitchy, leaving word that they were to be called as soon as the guys got news. 

It had been an hour and a half since the last text from Clint, when he had said things were progressing normally and it shouldn't be too much longer.

Tony sat down heavily on Steve's couch, and Steve looked up. Bruce glanced up from his puzzle book and Thor rubbed his hands together briskly. Tony ran both hands through his hair and left his hands on his neck, blowing out his cheeks. He looked around at the others. "What do we do?" 

Steve looked at him questioningly. "What do you mean, 'what do we do'?" 

Tony sat upright and put his hands in front of him, gesticulating as he talked, clearly agitated. "What I MEAN is that one third of our team is back there and we have no fucking clue what's going on! Anything could be happening back there! Why is this taking so long? She could be bleeding out for all we know, or dead! We don't know! She could be-" 

Bruce caught the stricken look on Steve's face and interrupted in his quiet, calming but firm way, "Tony. Babies come on their own time, there's no way to make this happen faster. You have brought in the best doctors from around the country to take care of this team and her. She's in the best possible hands. RELAX." 

Tony scrubbed his face with his hands and tried to imagine what Clint must be feeling. Steve bowed his head back down and this time there was no suspicion, his lips were moving in silent prayer. Bruce lifted his puzzle book back up and pretended to go back to working on it but instead watched Tony covertly over his glasses. 

Thor spoke, "On Asgard, the birth of an offspring warrants a great celebration. Asgardian babies are large and some women - the weak, sickly women - don't survive, nor do their offspring. So the birth of a healthy baby is cause for great celebration indeed." 

Steve's head snapped up and Tony just looked at him, agog. Steve said, "That's not at all comforting." 

Thor smiled, leaned forward and wagged his finger. "Ah, but it should be. For, you see, the strongest women, the warriors, they rarely encounter troubles on the path to birth, and their issue is almost never sickly or weak." He smiled at Steve and Tony then continued, "Never in all of my centuries of battling have I ever seen a warrior woman as strong, as brave, or as hearty as our Widow. I believe she will be with us again soonest." He sat back, smiling. "Although I do wish to hear glad tidings soon." 

_~*~_

Natasha demanded to be put into a wheelchair and wheeled to the room that was serving as a nursery as soon as she had enough feeling in her legs to sit up. Clint and the nurse carefully helped her into the chair and gently wheeled her into the room where her daughter lay in an isolette. A gold foil heart was stuck to her chest, a red light was taped to her toe, and she lay there, inside a plastic box, alone. 

The pediatrician explained that babies who were born via c-section occasionally had fluid in their lungs, also called "wet lung," but it was rarely anything to really worry about and she should be fine in a day or two. They just had to slow her breathing down a bit. 

"Can I hold her?" 

"Not yet, but you can in an hour or so. You can touch her, though. Here," The nurse opened the hole on the side of the isolette and Natasha tentatively slipped her hand in. Her baby lie there, sleeping, and she was afraid to wake it, but she felt compelled to touch her, to see if she was real. 

Natasha brushed her finger against the tiny hand, and the baby grasped her finger tightly. Natasha's eyes swam with tears she didn't even try to fight. She stuck her other hand into the other hole and reached in to stroke her daughter's head. 

She had a head full of blonde hair. Blonde, like her Daddy. Natasha sniffed and turned around to look at Clint, who was beaming. "She looks like you, Clint." 

"She's looking at you, sweetheart." 

Natasha looked back, and found that the baby had her eyes open and was gazing in her direction. Her eyes were piercing blue, the same blue that Clint's eyes were when he looked at her, the same blue they were when he was full of joy and peace. Tears fell unchecked. 

"I want to change her name." 

"Why?" 

"Because I have a better one. I don’t want to name her Claire Elizabeth anymore.” 

"It took us so long to agree on Claire. Are you sure you want to change it?"

"I'm totally sure."

"Ok. What name are you thinking of?" 

"You wanted to give her a Russian name, right?" 

"Yes." 

"And I wanted an American name." 

"Correct." 

"Well, I want her name to _mean_ something." 

"I'm not following, sweetheart." 

" _Irina_ is a Russian name that means 'peace'. I want to name her Erinna, with an "e," and maybe call her Erin." 

"Why?" 

"Because after all these months of turmoil, I feel peaceful about her and our decision." 

"Erinna Claire Barton?" 

"Yes." 

"I love it." 

_~*~_

It had been three hours since they got a text saying there had been an emergency c-section, two hours since Thor told an irrelevant story, fifteen minutes since Tony had harassed a staff member for information and four since he texted Clint _again_ demanding to know just what the hell was going on. Steve was standing at the window, gazing at nothing, Bruce asleep with his chin on his chest and his puzzle book fallen into his lap, Thor sitting on the couch looking both amused and annoyed while Tony was rapid fire flipping channels. 

"The largest communication systems in the world at my fingertips and I can't find anything to fucking watch." He cursed and tossed the remote to Thor before running his hand through his hair again. "Goddammit. I'm going crazy." He grabbed for his phone. "How much -" 

The mechanical door opened. Tony sprang to his feet and Steve turned around. Thor stood slowly, knocking Bruce on the knee to wake him up as he rose. 

Clint walked through the door, beaming, wearing green scrubs. “You guys wanna see my daughter?” 

~*~ 

Clint brought them back to a tiny nursery in the clinic and pulled a chair beside a clear plastic box where the baby was lying under a light. The nurse opened the box, swaddled the baby, ordered Clint to sit, and handed the tiny bundle to him. Clint looked around at the guys, beaming with pride. "Boys, I want you to meet my daughter, Erinna Claire Barton. Erinna, these are your uncles Bruce, Tony, Thor, and Steve." 

The four superheroes stood shoulder to shoulder to gaze down at the tiny baby girl. Tony spotted a tear running from the corner of Clint's eye but chose to say nothing. Looking around, he realized that only Thor's eyes weren't watery. 

“Erinna?” asked Bruce. 

Clint smiled at him and explained, “Its Russian for ‘peace.’ We felt like it was the most appropriate name we could give her.” He shot Bruce a meaningful look. “Natasha picked it out herself.” Bruce smiled a little and nodded. 

“How’s Natasha?" Steve asked quietly. 

Clint gave him the quickest side-glance. “She’s good. She's tired and sore, but I've never seen anything like her in there. She's stronger than all of us, I swear she is.” 

Bruce and Thor chuckled. Thor said, "I doubt it not.” 

“She’s upset that they had to take the baby by c-section, but we’re both glad they did. Erinna had the cord around her neck twice. Baby girl was all tangled up, huh?” He kissed her forehead. 

“Why’ve they got her in an isolette?” Bruce asked. 

“Is that what this thing is called? Oh, well, because she was a c-section, not all of the fluid in her lungs got squeezed out. It happens sometimes, the doctor called it “wet lung.” She’s having a little bit of a hard time breathing, but the doctor’s aren’t really worried. She’s just breathing kind of fast and has to stay in here most of the time for now.” 

Clint bent down and kissed his daughter's blonde head again. ”I just can't believe it, guys. Look at her. Isn't she beautiful?" 

Tony reached up with one finger and stroked her cheek, then looked at Clint. "Well, personally I think she looks a bit like a potato. But she's the prettiest damn potato I ever saw." 

Steve looked at Tony wide-eyed as if questioning his sanity - you just don't say something like that to a new father - but Clint and Thor burst out laughing followed by the others. They all hushed almost instantly, however, when Erinna began to fuss. 

"Uh-oh," said Steve. 

"Shit, I'm sorry man," said Tony. 

"No, it's fine. I need to get back anyway or Nat will get out of bed just to kill me. She was asleep for a little while, I wanted to let her rest." 

Bruce asked, "When can we see her?" 

"Nat?" 

"Yeah." 

"Tomorrow. Let her sleep the rest of the night...it's been a long day." 

The guys murmured assent and told Clint to give Natasha their best, but as they were turning to leave Thor said, "Wait! Hawkeye, if you please." 

Clint stopped before putting the baby in the isolette, the smile still plastered on his face. ”Yeah, Thor?" 

"With your permission, I would like to give little Erinna my Asgardian blessing. It will not harm nor disturb her, and t'will only take a moment." 

Clint looked taken aback and hesitant for just a moment, then said, "Natasha and I would be honored for you to bless Erinna." 

Thor laid his huge hand gently on the baby's tiny head and said some words none of them recognized. Then he made a design on her forehead and laid his fingers there for a moment. Clint felt the slightest warm breeze, then calmness. 

"There. I have asked for the protection and blessings of the Asgardian gods to be with her for all of her days." 

Clint just nodded, unsure of what to say, and Thor clapped him gently on the shoulder. Steve came over to offer parting congratulations, followed by Bruce, but before Tony could get to Clint Erinna let out a whimper, a little more urgent whimper, and then a wail. 

Bruce put his arms out, encompassing Steve, Tony and Thor. “We’ll get out of your hair, Clint. Tell Nat we’ll come by tomorrow to see her and the baby and give her our love.” 

“Will do. Thanks.” Clint smiled as they disappeared back through the automated door. 

The four men were all smiling small, bemused smiles as they walked back into the lobby, each engrossed in their own thoughts. Steve and Bruce looked almost wistful. Tony was fairly jaunty, nearly bouncing with every step. Finally, he broke the silence. 

"This is how life is gonna be around the Tower now, isn't it?" asked Tony. "That little girl is going to pout and all four of us are going to trip all over ourselves to make it better for her. She's going to be the princess of our universes."

"Yep." 

"Pretty much." 

"I think so, metal man." 

Tony grinned. “The Princess of Avengers Tower. I love it.” 

_~*~_

Natasha had lost count of the times she had woken up in a hospital bed with Clint sleeping in a chair beside her, but she could honestly say that she’d never woken up because a baby was crying lying on his chest. Her daughter. _Erinna. Peace._ And what a peaceful scene that was. 

After months and months of agony, wondering if she would be able to love this baby, the truth had been so quick and so evident. The doctor had handed Erinna to Clint, who snuggled her for half a second and leaned down to let her look. 

“Nat, look. It’s our daughter.” 

Natasha had looked. The baby had been pink and grey, almost waxy looking. Her face was smooshed up, nothing like the cherubic pictures in the magazines and books she’d seen. She was tiny, so tiny. 

She had leaned over and kissed the baby’s nose, the only part of her that she could reach with her lips. “Mommy is going to do her best for you, okay?” Then the pediatrician took her away, and she and Clint just counted down the time until they could see her again. Natasha had spent all of that time wondering just why she had worried she couldn’t love her daughter, and chastising herself for wasting her pregnancy. 

“Hey, sweetheart, did we wake you?” His head bent down almost involuntarily and kissed the baby’s downy head. “I’m sorry. I wanted to let you sleep a little longer, but the little princess is getting hungry, so I expect it’s mommy time.” He was laid back in the recliner with the baby curled into a ball on his chest on his undershirt, using his shirt as a blanket and her receiving blanket as extra shelter. 

“That’s an odd looking papoose you’ve got going on there, Clint.” 

He looked a little embarrassed. “Well, babies can’t see, they know everything by smell and hearing, and so I just wanted her to know my scent, you know? She already knows your voice and scent.” 

_“She does?”_

“She sure does. Here. Take her and feed her…see for yourself.” 

“I don’t know what to do, Clint.” 

"I know.” He looked at her, this man who knew her better than anyone in the world ever had and loved her more deeply than she ever hoped anyone ever could. She looked back at him, saw the love in his eyes as he held their daughter, felt the fear and uncertainty bubble inside her and the tears gathered. 

“Hey, hey, sweetheart…” He swaddled the baby and lay her down in her bassinet, gently put the pacifier in her tiny mouth and sat next to Natasha, pulling her into his arms ever so gently. “Am I hurting you?” 

“No, not really.” 

“I have no idea what I’m doing either, you know. And I’m scared as hell.” 

“But you look so…so natural.” 

“You were the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen when they handed her to you the first time.” 

“Oh shut up.” 

“I mean it, Nat. If I lost all my memories tomorrow, I would beg and plead to keep that one. How you looked holding our daughter. You glowed. You looked victorious. I was so proud of you, and I loved you more in that second than I ever have before. And you looked like the most natural thing in the world.” 

Erinna spit out the paci and started to fuss again. Clint kissed Natasha softly and went to pick up the baby, bringing her back over. “Here. Take her. Try it.” 

She looked at him hesitantly, then opened her arms to accept her daughter. Erinna fussed for only a moment, then began to root around for her mother’s breast. Natasha helped her a bit, and when Erinna latched on, she looked up at Clint with wide, wet eyes. 

He smiled. “See? The most natural thing in the world.” 

Natasha didn’t answer for a moment, she just bent her head and kissed her daughter, humming a tune Clint didn’t recognize. Clint watched for a moment, drinking in the sight and feeling like he would burst. 

“She looks like you, Clint. Blonde hair and eyes. Sweet little chin.” 

“I know. I hope she’ll grow out of it.” 

She looked up and smiled at him. “You’re gorgeous and you know it. And she’s stunning. She’ll be a heartbreaker.” 

He sighed. “That’s what I’m worried about.” 

Natasha went back to rocking the baby, humming, stroking her cheek. Clint watched, smiling softly, thinking back over their nine years together and everything that had led up to this moment. Thinking about the life he had had, and what he had now. Thinking about what kind of man he had been, and what she had made him into. 

“Nat?” 

“Hmm?” 

“I’m so damned glad I disobeyed orders in Johannesburg.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all, folks. At least for this fic.
> 
> so....babyfic? The Princess Of Avengers Tower? yes/no? 
> 
> Send me prompts! caedmonfaith.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> 7-21-2014 - Upon re-reading this, there are some things I'm seriously unhappy with. I'm trying to be forgiving of myself, since this is the first thing that I'd written since college, but I'm going through and editing/updating this fic. I might add a chapter, the beginning seems a bit weak to me.  
> ~Caed
> 
>  
> 
> Some chapters will have song lyrics or a portion of some. The story wasn't inspired by the song or the lyrics, its just that the song seemed to fit the story.
> 
> I do not own any of the characters in this story or the song lyrics in the first notes section. 
> 
> Constructive criticism is very welcome, kudos and comments keep me going! I haven't written in several years, so be gentle. :)
> 
> Any overlap with other fics is purely coincidental. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> caedmonfaith.tumblr.com


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